


Unforgivable

by bccaw



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Good Severus Snape, POV Hermione Granger, POV Severus Snape, Severus Snape Lives, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 77,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25899439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bccaw/pseuds/bccaw
Summary: Hermione does not escape Malfoy Manor with Harry and Ron and is taken to the Dark Lord alone.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/George Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 49
Kudos: 172





	1. After Malfoy Manor

**Author's Note:**

> This is not my usual fluff, which I will also be uploading to the archive here. You can find my other fics elsewhere by searching bccaw if you are impatient. I wrote the first two chapters a while ago, and only finished the fic because I've been in quarantine. I didn't finish it before because I prefer writing lighter stories, but 2020 got me in the headspace to write this one. The first few chapters are the darkest, but do not go into explicit details, and the fic is 30 chapters in total. I will upload them as I edit. This is AU because because it ignores Snape's death and the canon epilogue, and changes some events from the trio's capture at Malfoy Manor on.

**HERMIONE**

Devilish laughter rang in Hermione's ears, though it must have been hours since the cloaked Death Eater left her alone in the cold, damp cell where she was being held prisoner.

She shook her head and forced herself to open her eyes, wondering how long she had been knocked out from the spell he used on her before leaving. Her body convulsed yet again, shivering helplessly in the dark. The only light in the room came from her magical restraints, which emanated a faint bluish glow from above and below her head. It was dark enough that she could not see her own naked body, even when she peered down at her chest.

Hermione shuddered, this time in horror at the memory of the Death Eater leering at her breasts after tearing off her jumper. Tears welled up in her eyes as she pushed the rest of the memory to the back of her mind. There was no time for tears – she must keep her head clear if she was going to escape. The thought that there was no hope of escape was also pushed aside.

The laughter refused to be silenced, though. She could hear him laughing almost as clearly as if he was still in the room.

“ _Now you get it, don't you?” he said, leering at her and licking his lips, reaching out to grab the waist of her trousers. He laughed when she shrieked and tried to pull her hips away from his fingertips._

“ _No need to scream yet,” he said. “You're not mine... oh no, you're special. I doubt he'll appreciate the hysterics, though – doesn't seem the type. He'll probably charm your mouth shut.”_

_He ripped her trousers and pants off as well, then stared hungrily at her naked body._

“ _Shame,” he said. “I'd love to hear you scream.”_

_Hermione spat on him as he leaned in and grinned lecherously at her._

“ _For that, I'll save him the trouble,” he growled, pointing his wand at her face. Hermione's lips sealed themselves shut, and her tongue became glued to the roof of her mouth. The Death Eater laughed again and then the world went dark._

Hermione's mouth was still sealed shut, and she remained suspended about a foot off the ground, naked and shivering, her arms magically chained to opposite corners of the low ceiling, her ankles to the opposite corners of the tiny room. She was quickly losing the battle to control and squelch her terrified thoughts. There would be no escape.

An anguished whine rose in her throat along with the panic she could no longer contain. How many minutes, how many seconds did she have left until... she could not put it into concrete thought. It would happen, and then she would likely be killed. At least she would not have to live with the horrific memory. She would welcome death.

It might have been minutes or hours later when Hermione finally heard the lock click. The door opened, and the cloaked Death Eater appeared once more. He lit the sconces and the room brightened considerably.

“Here she is... your Mudblood treat.”

Hermione stopped breathing as his companion stepped into the room.

It was Snape.

Her mind stopped working as she stared at his blank, expressionless face.

“Leave us,” he said to the Death Eater at his side.

The Death Eater leered at Hermione once more, then slunk out of the room, closing the door heavily behind him. Snape pointed his wand at the door, locking and warding it. He strode over to her silently.

Hermione shivered again and another whine vibrated her throat. He raised his wand and pointed it at her. Warmth enveloped her body immediately. She looked at Snape in confusion, her body continuing to shake from the after-effects of Bellatrix's Cruciatus Curse.

“I shall remove the silencing charm,” he said. “However, it will be replaced should you attempt to scream.”

Hermione's blood seemed to freeze in her veins as his eyes ran over her body, then flicked up to rest on her forearm, which was caked with trails of dried blood.

“Please, help me,” she said hoarsely, hating herself for pleading with the murderer in front of her.

“I am here to help myself, Granger,” he said coldly. “You are beyond help. You sacrificed yourself to ensure Potter's escape, which has greatly upset the Dark Lord. Potter would have been dead already. You will not be so lucky.”

Hermione was speechless.

“Let's get the filth off of you first,” he said in disgust.

He ran his wand over her body, the tip hovering just above her skin. Cool magic cleansed her skin from head to toe.

Snape removed his robe and let it fall to the ground. He kicked it out of the way as he took one more step toward her. She could feel his breath on her face.

“Please, no,” she heard herself say, her mind feeling far away from her body.

As soon as his fingers touched her, she burst into tears.

“No... no you can't... Dumbledore trusted you! Dumbledore – ”

“Say that name one more time, and I'll see that you never speak again,” he said.

Hermione continued to cry, but stopped talking. Her mind was too numb to form words anyway. Snape placed his hand on her hip, then slowly moved it across her abdomen. It was warm and seemed to grow hotter. Her flesh tingled unpleasantly, almost painfully, as if he was performing magic with his palm.

Was he? Hermione found a bit of clarity for a moment as she tried to look at his face. His head was slightly bowed, his expression hidden by his long hair.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

Her voice refused to be more than a hoarse, squeaky rush of breath. He did not reply, nor did he look at her. More tears streaked down her face. Snape's hand burned as he trailed it farther down her abdomen. Then lower.

Hermione was aware of a sob escaping her, of her legs shaking, and then her mind ceased to function. She could hear her own voice through the fog, saying, “No, no, no,” over and over.

Her repeated plea only ceased when his blistering hot fingertips applied a tingling burst of magic to her body, causing her to go numb, unable to feel his hand anymore. Finally, he looked at her. His face was pale and ashen. As though through a tunnel, she heard the sound of his belt being undone, and the soft rustle of cloth that followed.

Her eyes were closed. She forced them open again, just in time to see Snape's expression grow steely and hard, a scowl knitting his brow before he closed his eyes. Suddenly he grimaced and made a muffled sound. His eyes opened slightly, and without looking at her he pulled her body against his. Hermione felt his knuckles brush her inner thigh – but otherwise she was completely numb.

“You don't have to do this,” she pleaded with him.

He finally looked at her with his cold, dead, black marble eyes.

“Oh, but I do.”

Fresh tears dripped onto her bare chest as he used her body to forcefully and quickly bring himself to completion. She held her breath the entire time. The world began to fade as he leaned toward her. His lips moved, but she could not hear what he said. She was vaguely aware of her head falling against his shoulder as she finally, thankfully, passed out.


	2. Escape

Hermione woke up lying on the floor wrapped in her own robe. Her clothes were folded neatly beside her. She sat up and grabbed her jumper – it had been mended. She hastily pulled it on and stood to put on her trousers. It was then that she noticed she had been lying on top of Snape's heavy black robe.

With a surprised gasp, she leapt away from the robe and then kicked it for good measure. If she was not afraid of alerting her captors that she was conscious again, she would have screamed at the offending garment. Instead, she gave it another kick, turning Snape's pitch black robe into a tangled pile of dust-covered cloth.

A bit of parchment fell out of the mussed folds and settled to the stone floor. Hermione picked it up and immediately recognized Snape's handwriting on it.

_Aster – say aloud_

Hermione stared at the paper for a few seconds, before it disintegrated in her hands and fell to the ground as fine dust.

“Aster?” she asked the air.

No sooner did Hermione say the word, than there was a loud _pop_ and a house-elf appeared before her looking supremely confused.

“You is not Master Snape,” the house-elf whispered, looking around with fearful, bulging eyes.

“No, I'm Hermione Granger. I've been captured and... and your master gave me your name,” Hermione said. “Can you get me out of here?”

“Yes, Miss,” said the house-elf, Aster, nodding nervously. “Take my hand.”

Hermione did and was immediately Apparated via house-elf magic to another dark, cold room with a stone floor.

“Where are we?” Hermione asked Aster, looking around in the dark.

“Master Snape's quarters at Hogwarts,” said Aster. “Aster is not allowed anywhere else in the castle.”

“Could you make an exception just this once?” Hermione asked, shuddering. “I can't stay here.”

The house-elf shook her head vigorously, her large ears smacking into her face.

“No, Miss. Aster is _not allowed_.”

“Okay,” said Hermione. “Can you tell me how to get out of here?”

“Go up... and up... and up again,” said Aster, using her fingers to mimic walking up stairs. “But Miss cannot leave!”

“So, we're in the dungeons,” said Hermione grimly. Of course they were.

She found the door to the bedroom and stumbled out into the rest of Snape's living quarters. Aster followed her, wringing her hands.

“Miss, do not be trying to leave these rooms, or Aster will have to stop you,” she warned Hermione.

“I can't stay here!” Hermione wailed at the house-elf. “Do you know what your master has done? I can't stay here – I can't!”

“Miss _will_ stay!” Aster commanded, scowling at her. “Master Snape will be in danger if you go into the castle, and Aster is to keep Master Snape safe.”

Hermione hugged herself and glared angrily at the house-elf.

“He doesn't deserve your protection, you know,” she said. “He's a vile, disgusting, coward. He's a murderer, and...”

Hermione faltered, unable to put words to the rest of her angry thoughts.

“And... it's a shame you're bound to him,” she finished.

Aster did not appear to be fazed.

“Miss will wait until Master Snape returns,” she said firmly.

Filled with dread at the thought of seeing Snape again, Hermione collapsed into the black armchair next to her and curled up. Though she felt like sobbing into her folded arms, instead she fell fitfully asleep, the first real rest she had gotten in days.

She was awoken by the slam of a door. The sound of Snape's boots on the stone floor indicated that he was now standing a few feet away. Hermione kept her eyes shut and refused to move.

“Get up, Granger. You can't stay here,” he said.

Hermione sat up and hugged her knees to her chest, glaring at him as she struggled to continue breathing.

“Don't talk to me,” she snapped.

“Believe me, I'd rather not,” he replied, walking over to a corner cabinet and removing a bottle of amber liquid. He poured himself a glass and quickly threw it back. He poured another and offered it to her silently.

“I don't want that!” Hermione spat at him.

He drank the second glass as well and then folded his arms, staring at her.

“I shall remove the memory for you,” he said.

Hermione felt tears well up again in her eyes.

“No,” she said. “Are you going to remove yours?”

He stared at her and replied, “I cannot. The Dark Lord has it.”

“Why?” Hermione asked stupidly.

Sneering, he replied, “He enjoys watching.”

Hermione's stomach pitched. Without warning, she vomited on the floor just in front of Snape's boots. He silently vanished the mess and knelt down beside her.

“You must allow me to remove the memory. You'll be of no use to Potter in this state,” he said.

“You'd like me to forget it, wouldn't you?” she asked. “But it won't make you any less guilty or despicable.”

He looked away.

“You need not suffer, Granger,” he said. “My guilt is not the point.”

“It is the point!” she said. “It is _my_ point. If we are ever free of the Dark Lord and the world ever goes back to normal, I will see that you pay for what you've done to me.”

“If ever we are free of the Dark Lord, I doubt I shall live long enough to see the inside of Azkaban,” he replied.

Hermione continued to glare at him, waiting for him to invade her mind and obliterate all proof of his transgression. He stood and walked over to the fireplace, softly mumbling an incantation to ignite the flames inside.

“Why did you save me?” she asked.

He put his elbow on the mantle and pressed his forehead into his closed fist.

“Because Potter won't last a day without you,” he said.

Hermione stared at him, his tense posture and closed eyes making him look like a statue leaning against the mantle.

“I'm supposed to believe you're protecting Harry?” Hermione finally asked in disbelief. “How can I, after all that you've done? Dumbledore – ”

“Do NOT say his name!” Snape snapped.

“Why not?!” she asked accusingly.

He turned to her angrily and said, “I need not be reminded that my soul was broken at the request of Albus Bloody Dumbledore!”

“Request?” Hermione whispered.

Snape looked crazed in that moment, as if he could not form a proper thought.

“Request?” Hermione asked in a louder voice.

“Yes, Granger. Have you not yet put it together?” he asked. “The headmaster was dying. I was commanded to put him out of his misery – but only at the right moment. He would not accept any of the potions I offered to provide him, so that he might complete the task at his convenience. When Draco attempted to carry out the task the Dark Lord gave him, I was to step in and shoulder the burden, to risk my own soul. To use the Killing Curse, so there could be no doubt that I was the one to kill him. That was his request, Granger, one of many he made of me before his death.”

“That can't be true,” Hermione protested. “How could he demand that of you? Why did you agree to it?”

Snape laughed darkly, making Hermione jump in surprise.

“You did not know him,” he said.

Hermione was silent, conflicted by his words.

“Why haven't you already Obliviated me?” she asked. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

He sank down into the chair opposite her.

“I need your help,” he said. “It is time for Potter to learn the truth.”

“About you?” she asked.

“About me, about Dumbledore, about the Dark Lord's Horcruxes,” Snape said. “All of it.”

“You know about the Horcruxes?” asked Hermione. “Why have you not been helping us?!”

“Who do you think brought you the Sword of Gryffindor?” he asked. “It bloody well doesn't just appear in the middle of the woods!”

“No, I suppose it wouldn't,” Hermione said.

They sat in silence. Hermione could not reconcile the man speaking to her at that moment with the man who had... her stomach roiled again and she put her hand to her mouth, grimacing. Rage bubbled up and threatened to take over her thoughts. Unbidden, more tears escaped her eyes.

“This conversation would be easier if you'd allow me to extract those memories,” he said, watching her struggle not to retch again.

“I don't want you in my mind, too,” she said.

He looked past her.

“I will teach you how to do it,” he finally said. “If you can learn it the first time. We don't have time to waste.”

Hermione considered the offer for a moment, then nodded.

“Show me,” she said.

He brandished his wand and said, “There is no incantation. You must clearly picture both the start and the end of the memory in question. Touch your wand to your temple, and focus both your magic and your thoughts to that point. When you feel your thoughts begin to tunnel away into darkness, push the memory fully out of your mind and begin to pull the wand away.”

He stopped speaking, closed his eyes, and a moment later pulled a long, silvery thread of memory from his temple. He sighed in seeming relief and opened his eyes, pulling a vial from his robe in which he deposited the memory. He tucked the vial back into his pocket. Hermione noticed that a few beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead.

“I don't have a wand,” said Hermione.

He shifted, then stood up.

“Then I shall perform the extraction without entering your mind. All you must do is properly focus the memory toward the wand's tip,” he said.

“Let me try it myself,” she pleaded. “I'm not stupid enough to hex you. Besides, Aster won't let me get very far if I try to escape.”

He stared at her unfathomably for what seemed an eternity.

“You have one chance,” he finally said. Unhappily, he offered her his wand.

Hermione took it with trembling fingers and closed her eyes. She took a few deep breaths and tried to focus on the memory of the unnamed Death Eater rousing her to consciousness with a horrifying grin. Then, she pictured the last moments she remembered with Snape before passing out again.

She touched the tip of Snape's wand to her temple and willed her magic to flow from her center, through her arm, and into the tiny point touching her head. Holding her thoughts captive with all of her strength, she directed them toward her temple as well.

Just as Snape had described, a tunneling, pulling sensation began, and her memory darkened around the edges, blurred, and dimmed. She pushed the faded memory from her mind, toward the wand-point, freeing her consciousness to blessed, blank, nothingness.

Hermione pulled the wand away from her temple and opened her eyes. A single silvery strand hung from the tip. Severus held another vial under the wand and collected the memory. He stoppered the vial and handed it to Hermione, who returned his wand in exchange.

“I can still remember what happened,” said Hermione, disappointed.

“Indeed. Extracting a memory is not the same as erasing it,” Snape replied. “You will find that unless you purposefully try to recall the events of the extracted memory, they never come to mind. Emotion is no longer connected to those events. They will no longer consume your thoughts.”

“Oh,” said Hermione. “Is that why you've been acting as if nothing happened?”

Snape stared at her impassively.

“What would you have me say? How should I act?” he asked.

“You could act like you regret what you did,” Hermione said, with far less emotion than she should have felt.

“I do not regret it,” he said flatly. “If not me, it would have been Dunn, whom you met before I arrived, or someone else. I would have regretted not acting in their place and allowing far greater harm to befall you.”

Hermione stared at him in disbelief.

“I am sorry it was necessary,” he said stiffly.

“I don't believe you,” Hermione said, holding his gaze. “Why did you not send Aster to save me before 'it was necessary'?”

“That was not possible,” Snape said. “Furthermore, Aster will no longer be able to Apparate within those wards. I was hoping to use her in the event Potter is captured.”

“You could have done something else,” Hermione said. “You could have pretended to... to do it. How can you stand there and act as if you are not a vile, disgusting piece of shite?”

He stared at her unblinking and seemingly unbothered by her hatred.

“I do not expect your forgiveness, Granger. I do not ask for it. You are welcome to despise me until the end of time. I will not contest your accusations should you bring them to court. If you wish to kill me yourself once all of this is over – if it ever is – I will welcome death. If I had not made some very binding promises to Albus Dumbledore over the years, I would have ended my own miserable life long ago.”

Hermione was shocked into silence for a few minutes. Snape sat back down in his armchair. Neither of them spoke for a long while. The only sound was the crackling of the fire. Aster stood watching them like a tiny, gnarled statue in the corner of the room.

“You will return to Potter,” said Snape. “You will tell him that I helped you escape before the Dark Lord was able to get any information out of you. Once you have convinced him that I am not his enemy, you will send your Patronus to me after nightfall. I will meet you and Potter at a safe location within the hour, and there I will give him Dumbledore's final instructions.”

“What location?” asked Hermione.

“I shall take you there as soon as we are finished with this conversation,” he replied.

“Why can't you just tell me what Harry needs to know?” Hermione asked.

“I cannot answer that question,” Snape said.

“I can't trust you unless you do,” Hermione replied stubbornly.

“It has nothing to do with you, Granger. You already have everything you need to complete the task at hand. I hope to Merlin you three have a plan to get it done quickly. The Dark Lord is restless, and anxious to act. He tires of moving behind the scenes, of sending inept servants out in his place. If he has not already realized what you are doing, he will soon. There is not much time left. I must speak to Potter.”

“How do I know this isn't just your plan to kill Harry?” Hermione demanded.

“I have risked my life, and that of a house-elf, to save you. Does that mean nothing?” he asked. “I will have to answer for your disappearance, as I was the last person with you. Aster's magic will have left traces on the wards. The Dark Lord does not know that she is my elf – not a soul alive outside of this room knows of her existence. However, she is now marked, and cannot leave the castle.”

Hermione shook her head and said, “You could be making all of that up! This whole thing might be a plan you hatched with the Dark Lord himself.”

“It is not, idiotic girl!” he snapped at her. “You are wasting precious time with this nonsense!”

“How can I trust you, when you've just said you feel no remorse for what you did to me? And when you spoke about Dumbledore's death, your only regret was the damage to your own soul! Did you hate the man so much that his death meant nothing to you?”

Snape leapt out of his chair.

“I do not have the luxury of wallowing in regret. The only reason I am yet alive and carrying out Albus Dumbledore's goddamn convoluted plan to rid the world of the Dark Lord, is that I live without allowing myself to be overcome by such emotions.”

He was now standing over her gravely. He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out the vial that contained the memory he had removed earlier.

“Take it,” he said. “Perhaps it will convince you.”

“How am I to view it?” she asked.

“Put it into your head,” he said, as if she were an idiot.

“I can do that?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said. “It is the same as returning one's own memories.”

“How do I...?” Hermione trailed off, watching him dip his wand into the vial and pull out the memory.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward her head.

After a beat, Hermione nodded and closed her eyes. She felt the cool tip of the wand touch her temple, and a sharp prick of pain. She gasped.

“They sting going back in,” Snape remarked.


	3. Snape's Memory

Hermione's mind was flooded with the sound of soft crying – her own crying. A feeling of dark despair came over her and she heard Snape muttering incantations. Her own body came into view lying on the floor of the prison cell, and she realized she was viewing the memory through Snape's eyes.

She could hear the anxiety in his words as he cleansed Hermione's body and draped the robe over her. She could feel his thoughts.

_He should not have done the clothes. If anyone saw them mended and neatly folded... but if all went as planned, Aster would take her away before they checked on her again. The Dark Lord liked to spend time with the memories before he interrogated them._

_Snape searched his pockets for a bit of parchment, pointed his wand at it, and spelled the words into the paper. Then he enchanted it and placed it carefully on top of his black robe, next to Hermione's hand._

_He walked to the door and just before he closed it behind him, he pointed his wand at Hermione and thought --Ennervate._

_The hallway was empty. He stood with his back to the stone wall for a moment and steadied himself. His legs felt like jelly and refused to cooperate in the task of reporting back to the Dark Lord. He remained braced against the wall for another minute before forcing himself to move. It would raise suspicion if he was gone too long – the memories he had to offer would reveal the entire encounter had lasted only a few minutes._

_He walked slowly toward the end of the hall and turned left. The sight of the narrow black door made his stomach drop. Just a few rooms away, the Dark Lord awaited his latest sordid entertainment._

_Snape opened the door and walked through a dark room filled with stuffy furniture and large, covered portraits. He came to a second black door and opened it, his thoughts still and calm, all emotion suppressed. His usual demeanor assumed, he entered the next room. Dunn and another Death Eater – Raynauld – were playing cards and filling the room with smoke from their charmed cigars._

“ _Done with her already?” asked Dunn, sneering._

“ _What are you still doing here?” Snape asked. “Were you not given an assignment?”_

“ _Just waiting for the others to show up,” answered Dunn. “They can't be at his beck and call like us, with the families and all – dunno why anyone is still keeping up appearances. The time for that is over.”_

“ _Let the Dark Lord be the judge of that,” said Snape._

“ _He'll be the judge of you first, Snape!” guffawed Raynauld. “I always thought you were too uptight to join our games with the Mudbloods, but it turns out you just prefer the young ones.”_

_Snape slashed his wand toward Raynauld, and the cards flew out of his hand and smacked him in the face one by one._

_This time, Dunn cackled and said, “Oh, he didn't like that – you hit a nerve!”_

_Dunn gave a shout as his cards also began to attack him. Snape walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him. He was now in the front hall. The Dark Lord was behind the door across from him. He walked over and put his hand on the doorknob._

“ _Come in, Severus,” the Dark Lord said, his voice muffled from behind the door._

“ _How did you find our guest?” asked the Dark Lord, smiling in anticipation._

“ _Emotional,” he replied flatly. “At the moment, she has passed out.”_

“ _Has she?” asked the Dark Lord in mock concern. “What did you do to the poor girl, Severus?”_

_Without a word, Severus pressed his wand to his temple and extracted the memory._

“ _See for yourself,” he said, offering his wand to the Dark Lord._

“ _Oh, no, Severus... you're my most faithful servant. We're going to experience this together. Put those back quickly. It's best when the memories are fresh in your mind.”_

_Snape obeyed and waited silently. The Dark Lord stood and walked toward him. He placed his hands on Severus' shoulders and said, “Look at me, Severus.”_

_Snape forced himself to meet the Dark Lord's eyes and allow him into his mind._

_\--Now, show me our Mudblood, Severus. Your first look at her. Dunn knows what I like... did you approve? Show me..._

_The Dark Lord's voice reverberated in his mind, blocking out all outside sound. Snape's awareness of his body melted away once the Dark Lord dove into the memory, throwing the scene into stark contrast, bathed in hot light, searing the images into the back of his eyelids as if it was on a projector screen in a pitch black theater. His head immediately began to ache._

_Held captive in his own mind, Snape relived the memory against his will, as if his eyes were charmed wide open. He approached a shivering and humiliated Hermione and emotionlessly prepared to violate her body. The Dark Lord immensely enjoyed the tears that began streaming down her face._

_\--Oh, Severus... you won't last long, will you? Not even inside her yet and you're about to burst. Ah... there you go. How lovely it feels – you've dropped your shields at last – how utterly exquisite and disgusting you find our little Mudblood! Oh!_

_The Dark Lord moaned as he experienced Snape's memory of sudden climax._

_\--That's done it, has it? A single thought of her dirty blood?_

_His mocking laughter rumbled through Snape's mind, making his head pound painfully._

_\--Was the presentation too much, or are you wholly unexperienced? Is that why you tried so desperately to keep your mind Occluded? Or perhaps you ashamed of your predilection for young Mudblood witches?_

_Snape could not reply while the Dark Lord's laughter continued to fill his mind._

_\--Disappointingly brief, but how lovely her performance was. Did you hear her? “What are you doing?”_

_The Dark Lord imitated Hermione's shaky voice._

– _She'll be wonderfully broken by the time I get to her._

_He withdrew from Snape's mind so suddenly that Snape felt that his head must have had split open._

“ _Thank you, Severus. I did so enjoy it,” the Dark Lord hissed into his ear._

_While in Snape's mind, the Dark Lord had pulled Snape closer to his own chest. His cold, reptilian body was pressed lightly against Snape's. One long-nailed finger brushed across Snape's neck as the Dark Lord removed his hand from Snape's upper back. He continued to grasp Snape's shoulder as he pulled out his wand and pressed it to Snape's head._

“ _Now, you may give it to me,” he said, the wand tip boring into Snape's temple painfully. Snape resisted the urge to sigh in relief as the memory vacated his thoughts._

“ _Shall I return to the school, my Lord?” he asked. “There are students I must discipline this evening.”_

_The Dark Lord laughed again and said, “Of course, Severus. I had no idea you'd enjoy the position of headmaster so much – I always thought you hated children. I suppose tonight has proven otherwise. I will call for you once the girl has told me her secrets.”_

_Snape exited the room and walked straight out of the building. He Apparated to Hogsmeade, but instead of flying up to the castle as he normally would, he walked up the dirt path in the moonlight. It had worked. The Dark Lord had not noticed the Wandless Magic Snape performed on Hermione._

_His mind would not let him forget the sickening feeling of the Dark Lord's body pressed against him, Dark magic emanating from his skin and washing over Snape like a fine mist. Despite knowing it would have no effect, he desperately wanted to shower in the hottest water possible. Instead, he would have to deal with Hermione._

_He could Obliviate her, but then how would he convince her to trust him? She would know her memory had been erased and demand answers. Could she be made to understand?_

_Ruminating on those thoughts for the entirety of his journey up to the castle, Snape finally stopped at the top of the hill and flew up to land on one of the towers. Once his feet touched the stone floor, he collapsed against the parapet and sunk down into a heap._

_The concentration required for flight had destroyed the tight grip he kept on his thoughts. He had just enough clarity of mind left to cast_ ' _Muffliato' before he lost control._

_A horrified cry escaped his throat, half-sob, half-shout, and he buried his head in his hands._

“ _Ah... ah...” was the only sound in the dead air around him as he gasped through the flood of tears that had been unleashed._

_His mind was entirely consumed by a violent vortex of rage, despair, hatred, shame, and hopelessness._

_As suddenly as the breakdown had come on, it succumbed to Snape's Occlumency once again. He fell silent and stared at the opposite parapet for a few minutes, his mind empty of all emotion and thought. He meditated this way for a while, then stood and cleansed his face with a spell. He used an Eye-Drying Charm meant for allergy symptoms to calm his watery eyes and straightened his clothing._

The memory ended. Hermione blinked rapidly as she became aware of her surroundings again. Snape was looking down at her grimly.

“I believe you,” she said, wiping the wetness from her eyes. “Please, take it back.”

He obliged, touching his wand to her temple once more. She pushed the memory from her mind and felt it pulled from her thoughts with ease. It did not belong there.

“I'm sorry,” she said as soon as he had bottled it once more.

“Don't be,” he replied.

“Don't tell me what I should feel!” she admonished him.

He stared at her for a moment, then said, “Are you ready to see the location where I shall meet Potter?”

After leaving her with Aster for about twenty minutes to make sure the Carrows were not torturing any students that night, Snape Disillusioned Hermione and took her up to the same tower where he had sat crying in the memory.

“I cannot Apparate from within the castle grounds,” he said. “We shall fly to a suitable Apparition point.”

Hermione nodded, then realized he could not see her.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Snape held out his hand and after taking a moment to gather her nerve, Hermione took it. He tugged her toward himself and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“You will have to hold onto me,” he said.

Hermione stepped closer to him and slid her other arm around his back. He wrapped his own arm around her torso, his fingers digging into her waist. Hermione sucked in a breath and tried to think only of the task at hand.

“Unless you want to fall to your death, you will have to hold on tighter than that, Granger,” he said.

She tightened her hold on him a bit.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, the word barely escaping her lips.

He crushed her body to his side and the next moment they were flying through the night sky. Hermione could barely breathe, whether because she was terrified of heights, or because Snape was holding onto her so tightly, she did not know. A minute later, they landed somewhere in the countryside surrounding Hogsmeade.

Snape let go of her so quickly that she stumbled away from him.

“Now, take my arm,” he said, after she had regained her balance.

She did, and they Disapparated. They arrived at Snape's safe location, which was the inside of a dusty old house. They appeared to be in an empty bedroom. The sole window was covered with blackout curtains and the room was lit only by the light from Snape's wand.

“Where are we?” she asked at once.

“My residence,” Snape replied. “I shall reconfigure the wards to allow you to Apparate inside this room. You will bring Potter here via Side-Along Apparition.”

“What about Ron?” asked Hermione. “He won't allow us to go off without him.”

“Then you will have to do it without his knowledge,” Snape replied.

“I can Apparate with both of them,” Hermione said. “I've done it before.”

“I'm not concerned about your Apparition skills,” Snape said. “Weasley is a loose canon. Potter will be less distracted if you are his only companion for this meeting.”

Hermione sensed it would be pointless to argue further and said, “Fine. I'll try to go while Ron's on watch. He'll think we're asleep.”

Snape seemed satisfied with her answer, until she continued, “It's just that sometimes he likes to peek in on me while I'm sleeping. He'll lose his mind if he realizes Harry and I have disappeared without him.”

“Then you must do it while Weasley is asleep, preferably with the aid of a strong Sleeping Draught,” said Snape.

“And leave him without a lookout, while he's drugged?!” Hermione exclaimed in horror. “No! I won't!”

“If your wards are strong enough, he will be safe,” said Snape.

“What if they aren't?” she asked.

“I can show you how to improve them,” he said.

“Fine,” Hermione said again. Then, she frowned, and asked, “Wait a minute. If it was you who brought Harry the Sword of Gryffindor, how did you find us in the woods?”

“It doesn't matter,” Severus said.

“Yes, it does,” said Hermione. “I don't know where they are – you have to help me find them!”

“They are at a place called Shell Cottage,” said Severus. “The current residence of Bill and Fleur Weasley. Luna Lovegood is with them, as is the Goblin, Griphook.”

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“Potter and Weasley still have your charmed bag,” Severus said. “Being less tidy than you, they have left it hanging open somewhere close to them while conversing loudly about their situation. The house-elf Dobby has died, and Potter plans to bury him with his own two hands.”

“The portrait!” exclaimed Hermione. “I bet Harry's forgotten all about it. Is that what you were doing earlier when you said you were 'checking on the castle'?”

“I was able to do both,” Snape said.

“I'm glad I thought to give Harry the bag,” Hermione reflected. “But this won't help us find Shell Cottage... I have no idea where it is. I only know that Ron went there when he ran off. It's the Weasley family's safe house.”

“Then you will have to pay the rest of the Weasleys a visit,” he said.

“How will I explain my escape?” she asked.

“Tell them you don't want to talk about it,” Snape said.

“That's not going to work!” Hermione said.

“It will work,” Snape insisted. “They will assume you used the Killing Curse to escape. They will not ask you to speak about it. That is the way of the Order of the Phoenix.”


	4. Shell Cottage

It only took Snape ten minutes to add her magical signature to the wards. He spent the next thirty minutes giving Hermione detailed instructions to improve her own wards and protective charms. Then he gave her a worn-looking old wand.

“It is time for you to go,” he said at last. “I anticipate being called to the Dark Lord's side at any moment.”

“Once he discovers I'm gone,” Hermione said.

“If he hasn't already,” Snape said.

“Wouldn't he have summoned you, then?” asked Hermione.

“Not necessarily,” Severus said vaguely.

“Okay, I'm going,” Hermione said, feeling anxious about her arrival at the Burrow.

“I shall await your Patronus,” he said.

They stared at one another in silence. Hermione shivered.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, and Disapparated.

Hermione arrived at the gate of the Burrow. She moved cautiously toward the house. She made it to the front stoop and rang the bell.

A tiny panel slid open at eye level, revealing a wand tip aimed at her face.

“Hermione?” asked Molly Weasley suspiciously.

“Mrs. Weasley,” she said. “Thank Merlin you're here.”

The wand remained trained on Hermione.

“What advice did I give you the day before my son's wedding?” asked Mrs. Weasley.

“You told me not to be discouraged, because Weasley boys are notoriously thick when it comes to love,” said Hermione.

“Ask me a question, love,” Molly said, dropping her wand with tears in her eyes.

“What did Molly Weasley give me the day before her son's wedding?” Hermione asked.

“A book called, _Wizarding Marriage Magic, Then and Now,_ ” replied Molly.

The panel slid shut and the door opened.

“Come in, quickly!” Molly urged, grabbing her arm and whisking her inside.

Hermione found herself pulled into a bear hug, squeezed to the point of pain by Molly as she worried over her.

“We just got the message from Bill, that you had been captured. Harry and Ron made it to the safe house. What happened? How did you escape?”

Hermione looked away from Molly's widened eyes and said, “I... I don't want to talk about it.”

“I see...” Molly said, her hand going to her chest. “I see. Come, dear, I'm sure you're starving. Here, sit down.”

She led Hermione to the kitchen table and fixed her a small plate of leftovers.

“It's just Arthur and me here now,” she said. “They haven't come for us yet. I suppose they think we're too old and too scared to be a threat. They don't want to spill our precious 'pure' blood if they don't have to... I suppose.”

“Where is Mr. Weasley?” asked Hermione.

“I'm here, Hermione,” said Mr. Weasley, who had appeared behind her. “Forgive me, I was watching the back of the house, in case you were not alone.”

He sat down beside her and placed a hand on her arm.

“I am so glad you are alive,” he said. “What happened?”

“She doesn't want to talk about it,” Molly cut in, giving him a significant look.

“Well, we are very glad to see you. I shall send a message to the others immediately,” said Arthur.

“Actually, I was hoping you could take me to the safe house tonight,” said Hermione. “I need to talk to Harry and Ron. We were in the middle of something important when we were caught – there is no time to waste.”

Arthur gave Molly a look and cleared his throat.

“Of course, dear. I'm sure you'll understand, though, why we must ask you to wait until morning,” he said.

“You still think it's not me?” she asked in surprise. “I can answer more questions... ask me something else.”

“Hermione, we know that the Dark Lord is a powerful Legilimens. Harry told us the Dark Lord was on his way to Malfoy Manor when they escaped, and that you were left behind. It is not beyond the realm of possibility that you are a very well-informed imposter,” said Arthur. “Forgive us, dear, but we must be absolutely certain it is you.”

“I understand,” Hermione said.

“All right, dear,” said Molly. “I hate to do this, but we'll have to restrain you tonight. I'll stay up with you while Arthur tries to get some sleep.”

Hermione nodded, but felt panic rise in her chest at the thought of being put in restraints again. Arthur watched tensely as Molly cleared Hermione's plate and led her upstairs to Ginny's room.

“You can sleep here,” said Molly.

Hermione visited the loo and returned under the watchful eyes of both Weasley parents.

“Make yourself comfortable in the bed, dear,” said Molly. “I'm sorry, I hate to do this.”

She brandished her wand and placed magical restraints on Hermione's wrists, chaining them to the bed frame. Hermione was immensely grateful that Snape had convinced her to remove her memories earlier.

“Try to sleep, dear,” said Molly. “I'll be right here.”

She bent down and kissed Hermione's forehead as if she were a small child. Arthur bid her goodnight, though Hermione suspected he had no intention of going to bed.

Exhaustion won out, and Hermione did fall asleep. She woke once to the sound of Molly and Arthur whispering at the door, then slept straight through until morning. She wondered if Molly had dosed her with something.

“Good morning, dear,” Molly said as soon as Hermione opened her eyes to the daylight. Her restraints had already been removed.

“See, its really me,” Hermione said blearily.

Molly sobbed and hugged her tightly.

“I'm so glad it's you, dear,” she said. “Come downstairs. We'll eat something and be on our way. Harry and Ron will be beside themselves if we don't arrive soon.”

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione was in Ron's arms. Harry cried openly, and the rest of the Weasleys held on to one another as they watched the scene. After a teary and happy meal together, Molly and Arthur insisted on returning to the Burrow, which was unguarded without them.

“Zey vill 'ave to leave eventually,” remarked Fleur, after they had gone. “Eet iz too dangerous zere.”

“It is their home,” Bill said. “They'll stay for as long as they can. We'll be here when they're ready to leave.”

Hermione and the boys retreated to an upstairs bedroom to talk. Hermione used Snape's suggested improvements on her spell-work to ward the door.

“New spells?” asked Ron curiously.

“Not really,” Hermione said.

“Hermione, what happened?” Harry blurted out.

“Harry, Ron, what I'm about to tell you can never be shared with anyone else. Where's my bag?”

Harry frowned, then turned around and dug through a pile of clothes on the bed beside him.

“Here,” he said.

Hermione stuck her arm down inside the bag and grabbed hold of the portrait. Struggling to pull it out of the bag, she heard Harry gasp.

“Hermione, what are you doing?” he asked.

“Hello, Phineas,” Hermione said, pulling the sides of the bag halfway down the frame and balancing it on her lap.

“That's Master Nigellus to you, mud – ” the portrait began.

“Do you want to tell them what's been going on, or shall I?” Hermione interrupted impatiently. “I know Snape has been talking to you.”

“Well, of course he has! Though I haven't seen him since last night,” the portrait said. “He's forever in here asking me where the lot of you have gone, what you've been planning, if I've heard anything new... he's lucky I was listening the night you moved to the Forest of Dean. I thought he was going to lose his mind, trying to figure out how to get that blasted sword to you.”

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron, and watched as understanding dawned on them.

“What?!” they both said, nearly in unison.

“I'd like to make it known – for the record – I think Dumbledore has gone about this in the most ill-conceived manner! Trusting you – mere children – to get anything right! If I were alive – ”

“That's enough from you,” Hermione said, shoving the portrait back inside the bag and closing it tightly.

“Snape was the one who gave us the Sword of Gryffindor?!” asked Harry. “Hermione. That's crazy. The portrait is just messing with us.”

“No, Harry,” said Hermione. “Snape helped me escape. He's the reason I'm alive.”

“Snape saved you?” Ron asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” Hermione said firmly.

“How?” asked Harry.

“He has a house-elf that nobody in the castle knows about. I think Dumbledore charged her with helping him. He passed me a note with her name on it, and when I called her she popped into my cell and rescued me.”

“You were in a cell? What did they do to you?” asked Ron, his voice rising.

“Ron, hush. Nothing worse than what Bellatrix did,” said Hermione, looking away. “Anyway, the house-elf – Aster – took me to Hogwarts and hid me in Snape's old rooms in the dungeons. She made me wait for him there. He told me that Dumbledore made him promise to be the one to kill him – he was dying from his cursed hand, Harry. Remember how you said it looked dead and black?”

“Hermione, why would Dumbledore do that?” asked Harry in disbelief.

“Because, Harry, he wanted You-Know-Who to trust Snape. He wanted Snape to stay and protect the school... and you.”

“Snape hates me,” Harry said. “Why would he protect me?”

“Has it occurred to you that he doesn't have to like you to want to help you defeat the Dark Lord?” Hermione asked.

Harry stared at her in stony silence.

“Snape needs to talk to you, Harry,” said Hermione. “He asked me to convince you to meet him.”

“No way,” said Ron. “It's a trap. Come on, Hermione! You really believe Snape?!”

“I thought the same thing, Ron. I tried to get him to just tell me whatever it is that Dumbledore wanted Harry to know. He said he couldn't tell anyone but Harry.”

“Convenient,” muttered Ron.

“I know, Ron, it sounds exactly like he's just trying to get to Harry. So, I told him I wouldn't do it.”

The boys looked relieved.

“Then, he showed me something that changed my mind. Some of his memories,” said Hermione, looking seriously at the boys. “And I believe him.”

“What memories? What did you see?” asked Harry.

“I can't tell you, Harry,” said Hermione. “It would be wrong.”

“Hermione!” wailed Ron.

“He showed me what happened when he was summoned to the Dark Lord last night,” said Hermione. “I don't want to talk about it... but believe me, he wants the Dark Lord gone as much as we do.”

“Just tell us!” Ron urged. “We should all judge for ourselves, then vote on whether we should trust him.”

“ _No,_ Ron,” she said. “It was bad enough watching it. I'm telling you I _can't_ talk about it.”

“Are you sure it was real?” asked Harry softly.

“Positive,” said Hermione.


	5. Hermione's Choice

“You're barking to trust Snape, Hermione,” Ron said.

“Ron, he saved my life. He saved all of us by getting me out of there.”

“I'm really glad he did,” Ron said. “I just think he saw an opportunity, rather than saving you out of the goodness of his bloody heart!”

“He did it so that I could continue to help Harry destroy Horcruxes, so that I could get Harry to trust Snape, and so that the Dark Lord might finally be vanquished!” Hermione said.

Ron did not continue to argue. The three of them sat staring at the floor in silence.

“Let's talk about the next Horcrux,” Harry said. “We'll decide what to do about Snape later.”

“We can't wait long, Harry,” Hermione said. “He thinks the Dark Lord is going to make a move soon.”

“I imagine he does,” said Ron.

Over the next few days, thanks to Harry's visions, which Hermione did not entirely trust, they came to the conclusion that Bellatrix had a Horcrux hidden in her bank vault. Hermione did not think they could get into Gringotts without being caught, and there was no hope of finding and searching Bellatrix's vault without an inside source.

It would have to be Griphook. Snape would be of no help with their mission, and Hermione did not plan to inform him of their suicidal idea to rob a Goblin bank vault. It seemed it was going to take a while to convince Harry to meet him. That night, while Ron was in the shower, Harry pulled Hermione aside.

“I think we should lay low for a while,” he said. “We need time to figure out how to get to the Horcrux at Gringotts, and if Snape is telling the truth then he can wait for a meeting.”

“Harry, what if the information he has for you will help you find the rest of the Horcruxes?” Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged and said, “We know there is one at Gringott's. I don't know how any information Snape has is going to make it easier to get inside – and more importantly, to get back out.”

“It might!” Hermione insisted, but Harry seemed certain of his intuition.

“I bet he's supposed to tell me about the Hallows,” he said.

“I don't know, Harry,” said Hermione. “If that's all it is, why wouldn't he have just told me?”

“Maybe Dumbledore thought we would fight over the Hallows, if we all knew they were real,” suggested Harry.

“He left a clue in the book he gave me,” Hermione reminded him.

“Maybe he didn't want _all_ of use to know,” Harry said quietly.

Hermione stared at Harry and then said, “Harry, Snape did ask for us to meet him without Ron.”

“Well, he's too late,” Harry said. “Ron knows.”

“You can't assume you know what he's going to say,” Hermione reminded him.

“Hermione, I do want to meet Snape. I'll even go without Ron, if that's what Snape wants... just not yet. I really feel like it would be a bad idea to meet him now.”

Hermione was beginning to resent Harry's insistence on following his gut in the face of decisions that would decide the fate of the entire wizarding world.

“Harry, you can't – ”

Hermione stopped speaking abruptly as Ron opened the door and lumbered in wearing a fuzzy bathrobe.

“What're you still doing in here?” he asked Hermione.

“Talking to Harry, obviously,” she replied.

  
“About what?” he asked. “You two look serious.”

Hermione laughed nervously.

“Isn't everything serious now?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Ron mumbled, rummaging through a pile of clothes and pulling out a shirt and pair of trousers.

“Do you mind?” he asked Hermione, who stood up to leave.

“I'll – ah – be right back,” she said, vacating the room to give Ron some privacy, as if she hadn't seen him naked before... but Harry didn't know that.

Standing outside the bedroom in the dark landing beside the stairs, Hermione felt her chest tighten uncomfortably. She hated lying to Ron, but he was being so bloody stubborn about Snape. There was no way she could convince him to support Harry's decision to meet “the evil, greasy git”.

She would never tell Ron the truth about what happened. Despite his optimistic attempts to repair the damage he had done to their relationship when he ran off, Hermione knew deep down that she would never trust Ron with her feelings again. In typical Ronald Weasley fashion, he was still avoiding a real discussion of what happened, convinced he could win her over as he always did, with dopey grins, awkward gestures of affection, and unexpected compliments. This time it would not work.

Harry did not know the real reason Ron had left them – the real reason he had been so jealous and angry under the influence of the necklace. It had less to do with what happened while they were on the run together, and more to do with what happened at the Burrow before they removed Harry from Privet Drive.

Ron and Hermione had gotten rather close without Harry around to interrupt things. It had happened so quickly that Hermione began to reevaluate the wisdom of engaging in such an intense relationship when they were about to embark on a dangerous and crucial mission with Harry, who would need their support and friendship more than ever. They could not afford to be distracted and Ron was so easily distracted.

The night before they left to bring Harry to the Burrow, Hermione told Ron they must stop and wait until they had come out on the other side of the war to begin a romantic relationship. Ron disagreed, and was angry with her, but they made up the next morning, realizing they might not make it back to the Burrow alive if anything went awry that night.

“That was the last time,” she whispered to him afterward, her voice hoarse in the early morning air.

“Hermione,” he groaned unhappily. “We still have time. After the wedding.”

“No, Ron,” she said firmly. “Besides, once Harry gets here you won't have the room to yourself anymore. This was it... we're just friends now. ”

“We've always been just friends,” he said. “That didn't work out so well.”

“Believe me, I know,” said Hermione.

Ron kissed her, but she pulled away.

“I'm going back to my room,” she whispered. “Goodbye, Ron.”

Once they were all three on the run together, Ron had become increasingly frustrated with her insistence on pretending nothing had happened between them. He grew angry with her intense focus on their mission and Harry, the Chosen One. The jealously came out at last, and he even made a few comments implying that Hermione was using Harry – as she had used Ron. He actually dared to suggest such a thing! The locket's powers of suggestion were terrifying.

The day he left, Ron had tried to kiss Hermione, saying he was tired of pretending to be “just friends” and threatened to tell Harry everything. He became enraged when she turned away and told him they wouldn't be friends much longer if he kept it up.

The guilt Hermione felt once Ron left had been all-consuming. It was unfair and cruel of her to require someone like Ron to act disinterested when he was not. Ron felt emotion so deeply and transparently that it must be torture for him to pretend they had not been together. Hermione cried many nights on watch alone, wondering what was wrong with her for pushing him away and refusing to express any of the love and tenderness she felt for him.

She was afraid. If she allowed herself to love Ron, putting that love into words and actions every day, she would not be able to prioritize their mission. She was not strong enough. If it came down to saving only one of the boys at some point, would she choose Harry? Would Ron?

If she allowed Ron to become her world, there was no chance she would make the right choice. Would she be willing to die protecting Harry if all she could think of was the life she would never have with Ron? She knew the answer.

It was better to forget her feelings, dreams, and desires for a while. Ron could not understand. He fully expected to die by Harry's side, and wanted to enjoy whatever time they had left to the fullest. Perhaps he just needed a distraction from their failures and depressing existence on the run. All Hermione knew was that the more he begged and tried to guilt her into changing her mind, the easier it was to refuse him.

When he left, she was both devastated and relieved. She wouldn't have to choose. She was so angry with him that she could put the fond memories of their secret romance at the Burrow aside. She could fully devote herself to the mission Dumbledore had given them.

“Are you decent?” she asked, knocking lightly on the bedroom door and pushing aside her heartache.

“Come in, Hermione,” called Harry.

She joined Harry and a fully-clothed Ron, who was messing with his damp hair.

“We need to figure out how to get Griphook to help us,” said Harry.

“I don't think that's a good idea, Harry,” said Hermione.

“What else are we going to do?” asked Harry. “We have to get into that vault.”

“I don't know,” Hermione said, chewing on her lips anxiously. “There's got to be another way. I don't trust him.”

“You trust Snape,” Ron pointed out. “So you're one to talk. I suppose you want to ask the evil dungeon bat to help us?”

“No,” said Hermione. “I don't see how he could. Even if he could get us into her vault, I doubt he could do it without blowing his cover.”

“So, we're agreed,” said Harry. “I'll talk to Griphook.”

“His help will come at a price,” Hermione said nervously.

“We don't have another option,” Harry said grimly.


	6. The Meeting

Hermione spent an hour before bed that night gathering her memories of Ron and removing the most intimate ones from her mind. Luna came in while Hermione was studying the mass of swirling memories, holding the vial up to the light.

“Are those your memories?” Luna asked with interest.

“Ah – yes, they are,” Hermione said.

“They say it makes it easier to deal with the pain of bad experiences. Is it true?” Luna asked.

“I hope so,” Hermione said.

“Only some of yours look rather lovely,” Luna observed.

It was true. The memories of Ron were bright and glints of color could be seen as they moved in the vial. The one memory that was not of Ron sunk to the bottom, a dull grayish-silver.

Luna watched her pocket the vial.

“Would you teach me how to do it?” she asked.

Hermione blinked in surprise and then smiled gently at Luna.

“Of course,” she said. “We'll do it first thing in the morning.”

A few mornings later, Hermione woke up before Luna, a rare occurrence, dressed quietly, and crept downstairs. She was relieved to find the downstairs empty and made herself a cup of tea. It was not yet dawn, so Hermione sat at the kitchen table sipping her tea, waiting for the sunrise.

Griphook had agreed to help them – in exchange for the Sword of Gryffindor. They could not allow him to keep it. Hermione disagreed with Harry's decision to make a deal with a Goblin that he did not intend to keep, but they needed Griphook's help. There was no other way.

Now in possession of Bellatrix's wand, Hermione avoided performing magic with it. She did not trust it and could not help but think of what it had done over the years, the atrocities committed in the hand of its rightful owner. It was the wand that had tortured Hermione and numerous others. It was a wand used to kill.

Hermione had watched the Death Eater, Dunn, destroy her wand in front of her.

“You won't be needing this,” he had sneered. “Mudbloods don't get wands anymore. Don't worry, you won't be around long enough to miss it.”

Hermione did not remove the memories of her torture at the hands of the Death Eaters, despite the way they sometimes brought on a spell of post-Cruciatus Curse tremors. She wanted to keep the pain fresh in her mind so that she would never be tempted to give up on their mission. She wanted to have the strength of all the anger deep inside her mind at her disposal, if and when the time came to channel it into the unspeakable – she would not hesitate to use the Killing Curse against her enemies.

Harry would be horrified to know she no longer had any reservations about it. He insisted the only person he wanted to kill was the Dark Lord. He was afraid of losing his soul otherwise. Hermione had felt the same way before. But the next time she saw Bellatrix Lestrange or Dunn, she would aim to kill. It would be rather poignant to kill Bellatrix with her own wand – assuming it would cooperate in that endeavor. Hermione planned to ask Ollivander how she might better bend the dark object to her will.

Her tea finished, Hermione got up and stood at the kitchen window. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. The sound of the stairs creaking made her turn around a moment later.

Harry appeared in the doorway.

“Hermione?” he whispered. “You're up early.”

“So are you,” she remarked.

“I can't ever get back to sleep with Ron snoring,” Harry said.

Hermione smiled slightly and said, “You could fix that – you're a wizard, you know.”

“Yeah, well... I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway,” Harry admitted. “I can't stop thinking about the bank.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “It's going to take us a while to plan it.”

“Even then, it probably won't work,” Harry said.

“I'll have to start brewing some Polyjuice Potion soon,” Hermione said. “It's going to be really difficult to get all of the ingredients.”

“Can't you ask Snape?” Harry asked.

“I don't know,” Hermione said. “The portrait says Snape hasn't been alone in his office lately, though he's still at the school. The Dark Lord might be suspicious of him since I escaped.”

Hermione shook her head to clear her anxious thoughts about what had befallen Snape.

“I doubt he will agree to meet us more than once. I can ask the portrait to tell him what we need for the potion, but I think you're going to have to agree to come with me to get it from him. He said you need to know Dumbledore's information soon.”

“What are we going to tell Ron?” Harry asked. “He's not thick enough to believe the ingredients for Polyjuice Potion just suddenly appeared at Shell Cottage.”

“Right,” Hermione said. “What if I tell him I stole more of the ingredients for Polyjuice from Hogwarts before we left?”

“And just didn't mention it until now?” Harry asked, smirking. “Yeah, that does sound like you.”

More creaking floorboards announced Bill's arrival.

“Good morning,” he said, putting on some more tea.

“Good morning, Bill,” Hermione replied.

The three of them sat in silence until Fleur and Luna came downstairs. Hermione helped Fleur cook breakfast. If Hermione stayed at Shell Cottage long enough, she might improve her cooking skills enough to make more than toast and tea successfully. Luna and Harry set the table while Bill went up to wake Ron and knock on the doors of Griphook and Ollivander, who rarely left their rooms to share a meal.

“Smells good,” Ron remarked as he walked by Hermione, who was in charge of the eggs that morning.

“Do not distract 'er!” exclaimed Fleur. “Go 'elp 'Arry with zee garbage, pleeze.”

Ron rolled his eyes and obeyed her instructions.

Placing the eggs under a stasis charm, Hermione said, “Ah, I'll be right back, Fleur.”

She hurried upstairs and into the bedroom she shared with Luna. She grabbed her beaded bag and went to the loo.

“Are we in a lavatory?” asked Phineas in an alarmed tone as soon as Hermione pulled the portrait out of the bag.

“Never mind that,” Hermione said. “I don't have much time. Have you been able to speak to Snape yet?”

“Severus was here earlier this morning,” he replied. “He asked whether you have spoken to Harry Potter about meeting him.”

“Yes, of course I have,” Hermione said. “Listen, Harry has agreed to meet him soon, but I need something from Snape first. The ingredients to make Polyjuice Potion. As much as he can spare.”

Phineas frowned and said, “I shall relay your request.”

He disappeared from the frame, and Hermione shoved the portrait back into her bag. She went back downstairs to eat breakfast. It was not until late that night when she got another chance to speak to the portrait.

“Severus will need a few days to procure your supplies,” Phineas reported.

Hermione nodded and a checked back a few days later, this time sitting on the roof of Shell Cottage, watching a glorious sunrise with a cup of tea.

“Ah, now this is a view!” Phineas said approvingly.

“Is he ready?” Hermione asked.

“Meet him tonight at the safe location,” Phineas said. “Bring Harry Potter with you.”

“Is he okay?” Hermione asked quickly, as Phineas started to leave the frame again.

“I doubt he would wish me to answer such an impertinent question from a – ahem – a student,” he replied, narrowing his eyes at Hermione. “He is the headmaster of Hogwarts in a time of great uncertainty. He does what he must to protect the school and the future of magical education, as is his duty.”

His reply did nothing to ease Hermione's mind. She finished her tea and returned to the kitchen, where she was happy to find Harry alone once again.

“It's time,” she said softly, patting her beaded bag before tucking it into her robe pocket.

Harry nodded and asked, “Today?”

“Tonight,” Hermione said.

“What about R – ”

“I'll take care of it,” Hermione said quickly. “We'll go late.”

“What if he wakes up?” Harry asked.

“I said I'll take care of it,” Hermione said.

She silently poured herself another cup of tea and watched Harry, who appeared to be conflicted about their plan.

“Where should I set up my cauldron to brew the Polyjuice?” she asked.

Harry frowned and said, “I hadn't thought of that. I guess you'll have to do it in our loo. Nobody else will go in there.”

“Brewing in the loo again, just like old times,” Hermione said with a smile.

Hermione could sense Harry's tension throughout the day, but thankfully Ron was not sensitive enough to pick up on it. Luna might have, as she kept staring at Harry rather intensely, but Hermione was also beginning to think Luna had started to fancy Harry.

Hermione did not return to her bedroom that night. It was not unusual for Hermione to stay in the boys' room talking and planning late into the night. Luna never asked Hermione what they were doing so late into the early morning hours, and Hermione hoped that the younger witch did not feel too badly about being excluded. She seemed perfectly content to read and draw in solitude for most of the evening hours.

It was no surprise to Hermione that Luna did not ask if she could be a part of their plan. Poor Luna had been the support Ollivander needed to survive imprisonment at Malfoy Manor, and it seemed to have taken a toll on her. She never spoke about her treatment while a prisoner, but she did frequently talk about her father, who had been taken to Azkaban. The lightness of her voice was dulled and she had stopped talking her usual nonsense.

Just before midnight, Hermione went to the kitchen and returned with a pot of tea and some biscuits. She poured the boys a cup of tea and placed the tray of biscuits between them. Ron immediately ate four or five biscuits, then finally took a sip of tea.

“This is good, Hermione,” he said. “We should always have a midnight snack.”

“We should go to bed,” she replied. “It's chamomile tea, Harry. It will help you sleep.”

Ron frowned at Harry and said, “You didn't tell me you have trouble sleeping.”

Harry shrugged and pretended to sip his own tea. Ron did not seem to notice that his cup was just as full as it started out. He finished his tea, grabbed one last biscuit, and lay back on his pillow eating it.

“I suppose I'm going to bed,” Hermione said. “I'll just take these things back downstairs. Goodnight, Ron... Harry.”

“G'night,” Ron mumbled, his eyes already beginning to fall shut. Hermione had given him quite a strong dose of the Sleeping Draught she had hidden away in her bag.

Hermione waited in the dark kitchen until Harry crept down the stairs a few minutes later. A Dampening Charm on the stairs kept him from making any noise on his way down.

She motioned for Harry to follow her out the back door. Once they were outside of the wards and protective charms, she pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of her bag and threw it over Harry's head.

“Don't take it off until I've gotten the ingredients from Snape,” she said. “I know I'm being paranoid, but he didn't speak to the portrait for such a long time after I escaped... I want to be sure it's really him.”

Hermione stared at the spot where Harry was standing, working up the nerve to Apparate straight into Snape's safe house.

“All right, Harry, take my arm,” she said.

She felt Harry hook his cloaked arm through hers.

“Here we go,” she whispered, closing her eyes and picturing her destination. In a moment, they were standing in the middle of the pitch black empty bedroom in Snape's old house.

Snape was not there yet. Hermione felt Harry let go of her. They waited in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Hermione shuffled her feet and tried to keep from pacing the room. Then, with a _pop_ of Apparition, Snape appeared.

They stared at one another for a moment. Hermione felt as if the air had been sucked from the room.

“Where is Potter?” Snape asked, scowling.

“Do you have the ingredients?” Hermione asked.

Snape reached into his robe pocket and took out a leather pouch. He handed it to her silently. Hermione looked inside to discover it was enchanted with an Untedectable Extension Charm just like her beaded bag, and was filled with lumpy packets and glass vials. There was enough to make at least twelve batches of Polyjuice Potion.

“Thank you,” she said. “Before I get Harry, I – I think I should ask you a question to make sure you're not an imposter.”

He sneered at her and folded his arms.

“Well? Ask your question, girl.”

“Erm – who was the Half-Blood Prince?” she asked, her voice shaking.

His sneering expression did not change as he stared at her and said, “The Half-Blood Prince was the name I gave myself as a Hogwarts student – a title not meant to be shared with anyone else.”

Hermione cleared her throat and looked away.

“What was the spell you invented and wrote in your sixth year Potions textbook – the one 'for enemies'?”

“Potter has no business attempting unfamiliar spells of any sort, given his abysmal grasp of Latin,” Snape replied, a hint of anger flashing in his eyes. “And he should learn to keep his bloody mouth shut!”

Hermione just stared at him expectantly.

“ _Sectumsempra,_ ” he hissed. “Are you satisfied? We do not have the luxury of time. Every minute I am away from the school is a minute the Carrows might finally murder a student. It will likely be Ginevra Weasley, as she makes a regular point to provoke them.”

Hermione said, “Go on, Harry.”

Harry removed the Invisibility Cloak, looking rather murderous.

“If Ginny's in danger, send her home!” Harry demanded.

“If she would behave as if she had some sense, she would be safe at the school,” Snape replied. “The Dark Lord has no reason to come to Hogwarts while I am there and you three are not. As it is, she has become impossible to control. Perhaps you might convince her parents to remove her for her own good.”

“Perhaps I will,” Harry huffed.

“Are you prepared to hear the information Albus Dumbledore asked me to share with you at this time?” Snape asked, as his face turned expressionless.

“Is it about the Deathly Hallows?” asked Harry excitedly.

Snape stared at him.

“No,” he said.

Harry's face fell and he stared back at Snape in silence.

“Follow me, both of you,” Snape said, opening the door to the room into a dark hallway.

Hermione and Harry exited behind him. The hallway beyond was extremely narrow and Snape seemed to barely fit through in his billowing professor's robe. They descended the equally narrow staircase at the end of the short hallway and Snape lit the wall scones and lamps in the room below.

Once they were all three standing in the parlor, Snape turned to Hermione and said, “I shall allow you to stay within sight of Potter for this, so long as you agree to be put under an Instant Deafening Charm.”

“That charm won't wear off for hours!” Hermione protested.

“Are you and Potter not planning to leave here and go to bed?” asked Snape.

“That's not the point!” Hermione said, and caught Harry's surprised look. “It's too dangerous to be anywhere without being able to hear.”

Snape made an impatient noise.

“Then, you will have to leave while I speak to Potter,” he said.

“You could use _Muffliato_ ,” Hermione said.

Snape pursed his lips and replied, “ _That_ spell is easily removed.”

“I won't remove it,” she said. “I'll give my wand to Harry so I can't do it anyway.”

“You mean to tell me you are not capable of simple Wandless Magic?” he asked.

“I – I – no. I can't do Wandless Magic,” Hermione said, frowning at him.

Hermione stopped abruptly at the look on Snape's face. He seemed to be amused and was smirking at her. She handed Harry her wand. He cast _Muffliato_ on Hermione and then turned his back to her and began speaking to Harry.

Hermione stared at Harry's face, looking for some indication of how the conversation was going. His jaw was clenched and he did not speak, only nodded or shook his head. Snape must have told him not to talk.

Then, Snape stepped aside, so that Hermione could see him reach into his robe and take out a vial of memories. He dipped his wand into the opening and pulled out the longest strand of memories Hermione had ever seen. It hung suspended in the air, halfway to the floor. Snape pressed the wand to Harry's temple, and the string of memories seemed to slither into Harry's head, like a shimmering baby serpent.

Hermione shivered as Harry winced and cried out in surprise. That must have really stung. Snape stepped back in front of Harry again, blocking Hermione's view. He watched Harry tensely for about five minutes.

Hermione grew tired of the buzzing in her ears. She plopped down on the uncomfortable chair behind her and crossed her arms. A few minutes later, Snape's arm jerked forward and he quickly pressed his wand to Harry's temple once more. He leaned down close to Harry's face and seemed to be speaking to him for a moment before he retrieved the memories.

When he finally moved out of the way, Hermione could see that Harry's face was as white as a sheet. He quickly took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes while Snape put the memories back inside the vial and tucked it into his robe.

Suddenly, the buzzing in her ears stopped, and Hermione glanced at Snape. He did not meet her eyes. Harry walked over and handed Bellatrix's wand back to her. He did not speak as Snape escorted them back to the room upstairs and waited for them to leave.

Back at the cottage, Hermione led Harry to the spot in the wards where they'd snuck out earlier and took a few minutes to make sure she had located the dead spot she'd created.

“Just here,” she said, outlining the area for Harry. “Be careful.”

Once they were both through, she patched the wards back up, holding her breath as she worked. It would not do to wake the whole house. Thankfully, she'd been able to get Bill to show her how to perform his alarm enchantments so that she could assist him in renewing and strengthening them each day.

In silence, they snuck back inside, and went to bed without a word. Hermione lay in bed for a long time wondering what Snape had shown Harry, and what he said to him afterward.


	7. The Last Horcrux

By the time they were ready to move ahead with their Gringott's plan, Hermione knew Harry was not going to share his secrets with her. Not that she badgered him to do so, but she had assumed he would eventually tell her on his own, perhaps accidentally.

Of course, things did not go smoothly at the bank, and as Hermione had suspected, it was a mistake to trust Griphook. But they escaped, clinging to the back of a dragon, Hermione with her eyes closed for most of the journey.

When Harry insisted they go to Hogwarts to find the last horcruxes before Voldemort could stop them, Hermione did not argue. Surely Snape had given him some information for just this moment. They might not have a plan but perhaps they would have an element of surprise. Harry waited until they were forced to take cover inside the Hog's Head with Aberforth to say anything.

“Right. Hermione, Ron, I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you...” Harry said.

Hermione could see that he was trying to work himself up to say whatever it was.

“I trust Snape,” Harry said.

He planted his fidgeting hands on his hips and looked at the floor.

“When I went to meet him – ”

Harry paused as Ron swore. “He told me something I didn't want to believe.”

Harry sighed and continued, “But I know it's true, and not just because Snape showed me so many of his own memories. I think I've always known.”

“Did you know about this?” Ron asked Hermione. She ignored him.

“Harry, what did he show you?” she asked.

“A lot of things. I don't have time to tell you all of it, but the most important thing is that he's not a murderer. What happened last year – ”

Harry glanced furtively across the room to the doorway Aberforth had disappeared into moments earlier. He'd be back any minute.

“It was all part of the plan. Dumbledore made Snape do it.” 

  
Ron snorted and said, “He didn't _make_ him. It was a choice.”

“It wasn't,” Harry said flatly.

“He bloody well di-”

“Ron, I'm a horcrux,” Harry whispered, interrupting Ron's protest. “I'm a horcrux. That is what he was supposed to tell me. When You-Know-Who tried to kill me as a baby, he made me a horcrux by accident. That's why he can get into my head, and I can get into his.”

Ron's face grew impossibly pale and his freckles stood out starkly in the dim light.

“No,” he said. “You're not. You can't be.”

“I am,” Harry said, nodding. “I am.”

Tears formed in Hermione's eyes. She took one of Harry's hands and wrapped both of her own around it, speechless. It felt as if someone had just carved a hole into her chest.

“We...” Ron shook his head. “We'll come up with a plan. Something.”

“We have a plan, Ron,” Harry said. “We're going to get into the castle and find the last horcrux. Destroy it, and the cup. When he gets here we're going to find the snake. Kill it. Then, if he hasn't already found me, I'm going to confront him, and be a distraction for the rest of you.”

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand tighter, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Just make sure you wait until I'm down to attack. I don't want to become... _him,”_ Harry said.

Hermione let out a sob and pulled Harry into an embrace. She felt Ron join the hug seconds later. When they heard Aberforth's footsteps they pulled apart. Hermione turned away and wiped her face.

Aberforth set down a platter of bread and cheese on the bar and looked at the trio.

“You might as well eat something,” he said. “Have you come to your senses and agreed to leave?”

“No. We have to get into the castle,” Harry said.

Ron was already grabbing food from the tray. He stuffed some into his pockets and then ate a piece of bread ravenously.

“We aren't going to change our minds,” Hermione added.

She reluctantly took some food as well, when her stomach growled. Aberforth stared at them, and then sighed. He walked over to the portrait and said something in a low voice. The girl nodded, turned, and walked away, growing smaller and smaller in the frame. Aberforth stood staring at the portrait in silence until the tiny figure began to grow larger again.

She was not alone. The portrait slid to reveal a secret passageway.

“Neville?!” said Hermione.

They crowded around the tunnel and stared in disbelief at Neville, who had grown much taller and thinner since they last saw him.

“I can't believe it's you,” Neville said, looking back at them in equal astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

“We need to get into the castle,” Harry said.

“Sure, come on,” Neville said. “This passage will take you to the Room of Requirement.”

So they returned to Hogwarts. Neville alerted the Order, and soon the rest of Dumbledore's Army, new members and old, were with them, ready to follow Harry's orders.

“I have to find McGonagall,” Harry said. “We'll need the professors help to get the students out of the castle... and to prepare.”

  
  
“For what?” someone wondered quietly nearby.

“For a battle,” said Harry. “You-Know-Who is preparing for a fight. Here. Soon.”

“What about Snape?” asked Neville.

Harry hesitated, and then said, “Don't worry about Snape. He's outnumbered.”

Neville stayed behind to manage the growing crowd in the Room of Requirement. Hermione and Ron followed Harry out into the corridor.

“Shouldn't we find Snape first?” Hermione said. “Maybe he can take care of the Carrows for us.”

“Why didn't you tell them Snape's on our side?” Ron asked.

“They wouldn't have believed me,” Harry said. “We don't have time to convince them. And anyway, Snape told me never to tell anyone else the truth.”

It was then that Hermione knew what the last task must be that Dumbledore had given Snape. Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak over his head.

“I'm going to find McGonagall. Hermione, Ron, you should find Snape. Maybe he has some ideas about where to look for a horcrux. Try the headmaster's office.”

“Harry – ” Hermione said, but he was gone in a second.

“Let's go,” Ron whispered, touching her elbow.

They went to the headmaster's office, wands out at the ready, but the halls were empty. As they approached the gargoyle that guarded the staircase, Hermione's heart sank. They didn't know the password. They didn't even know if Snape was in the headmaster's office.

“Now what?” Ron mouthed at her.

Hermione didn't know, but it didn't matter.

“Looking for me?” said a quiet voice from behind them.

They turned to see Snape pointing his wand at their backs. Slowly, he raised his other hand and held a finger to his lips. He walked over, touched the gargoyle, and it moved aside. Snape gestured for them to enter the spiral staircase ahead of him. Ron made Hermione go first, putting himself between her and Snape, whom he clearly still did not fully trust.

All of the portrait frames were empty in the headmaster's office, except for one. The portrait of Dumbledore paced back and forth, stealing sideways glances at them.

“What are the two of you doing here?” Snape asked.

“You don't know?” Ron asked incredulously. “You-Know-Who is on his way here with an army of Death Eaters!”

The portrait of Dumbledore stopped moving. Snape's black eyes bored into Ron.

“We don't have much time to find the last horcrux,” Hermione said impatiently. “We know it's in the castle. Can you help us?”

“No,” Snape said. “I have my own orders.”

He glared up at the portrait, which kept its silence.

“Do you know of any way to destroy a horcrux besides with the sword of Gryffindor?” Hermione blurted out.

“You lost the bloody sword?!” Snape asked.

Hermione nodded. Snape turned around to face the portrait.

“Any ideas?” he asked it sarcastically.

The portrait shook its head gravely.

“The sword worked because it was impregnated with basilisk venom, right?” asked Hermione.

“I believe you are correct, Miss Granger,” said the portrait.

“So, we just need some basilisk venom,” said Ron. “Brilliant.”

“Severus, give the Sorting Hat to Miss Granger,” ordered the portrait.

Severus scowled, but walked over to one of the many cabinets that lined the office and opened it. He returned and deposited the Sorting Hat into Hermione's lap.

“Take it to Harry,” said the portrait. “It may prove useful.”

Hermione put the hat into her charmed bag, much to the interest of Snape and the portrait.

“Wait a minute...” Ron said slowly. “We need basilisk venom, and there was a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets... and I know how to get in.”

Hermione blinked in surprise at Ron.

“I thought Harry was only able to get in because he speaks parseltongue,” she said.

“Well, yeah. Maybe. We'll have to find Harry,” Ron said.

Hermione and the rest of the company sat in silent thought for a moment.

“It's been years, though,” she said. “Would there be enough venom left in its fangs to destroy a horcrux?”

She looked first at the portrait, then at Snape, hoping for an answer.

“Basilisk fangs contain a great amount of venom, and it is such a potent substance that even a small amount of residue should be enough,” Snape said.

He seemed to ponder his words, then added, “Perhaps years of decay will have allowed the venom to fully permeate the fang itself.”

Snape walked to another cabinet and pulled out a pair of long, black dragon-hide gloves. He handed these to Hermione as well.

“Be careful. We can't have you dying before you get the job done,” he said.

Hermione stuffed the gloves into her bag as well.

“We should go,” Hermione said to Ron, standing up. “Let's find Harry.”

She paused and looked at Snape. He'd probably be dead soon, and Hermione probably wouldn't make it out of the coming battle alive either. They both knew that Harry wouldn't. She imagined he was thinking similar thoughts as he stared back at her.

“If you see anyone when you leave this office, tell them I fled,” Snape said.

Hermione nodded and they left. The problem now would be finding Harry, who was invisible. As they turned a corner at the end of the corridor, they saw a shimmering patronus in the form of a cat float past.

“That's McGonagall's patronus!” Hermione said.

They followed the patronus all the way to a corridor near the Ravenclaw common room, where it disappeared into Professor Flitwick's office. Moments later, Flitwick opened the door. His mouth dropped open when he saw them.

“Hermione Granger?! Mr. Weasley! How did you get into the castle? Never mind. Go to the Great Hall with the rest of the students. Professor McGonagall has called an urgent assembly!”

Flitwick hurried toward the Ravenclaw common room. Hermione and Ron ran down to the Great Hall, where they were relieved to find Harry helping McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt direct and calm the younger Gryffindor students gathered there. Hermione hugged him and refused to wonder if it would be the last time.

“We went to the headmaster's office, Harry. Dumbledore's portrait wanted you to have this,” she said, pulling the Sorting Hat out and giving it to him.

Harry's eyes widened and he said, “And Snape?”

“Snape's gone,” Ron said loudly, looking around to make sure McGonagall heard him. “Must be going to find You-Know-Who.”

McGonagall's face contorted furiously, and she said, “Well. That's one less Death Eater to worry about for now. None of you goes anywhere until myself and the other professors have found the Carrows.”

Hermione, Ron, and Harry looked at one another and decided to let her believe they would comply. They waited until she was out of earshot to speak again. Harry had a look on his face that said he wanted to go look for the Carrows himself at that moment.

“Harry, Ron and I need your help,” she said. “We need to get into the Chamber of Secrets.”

“What? Why?” Harry asked.

“Because, Harry, we're going to use basilisk fangs to destroy the last horcruxes.”

Harry's face broke into a smile.

“Yes! Of course!” he said.

He look furtively at McGonagall and asked, “Is Snape really gone?”

“I don't know,” Hermione said. “But that's what he told us to say.”

The three of them hurried to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom with Harry back under the cloak at Hermione's insistence. Harry hissed something at one of the taps and waited for the secret passageway to be revealed.

“Right. There you go,” he said. “Good luck.”

“You aren't coming with us?” Hermione asked.

“I have to look for the horcrux,” Harry said. “Go back at the Room of Requirement when you're done. I'll meet you there.”

With that, Harry threw the cloak on and left, and Ron led the way down to the Chamber of Secrets. It was so cold that Hermione couldn't stop shivering. She cast a warming spell on herself and Ron, as he advanced toward the chamber with his lit wand held in front of them.

“There it is,” said Ron.

He stopped and took Hermione's hand. Together they looked at what remained of the basilisk – dry, scaly skin and bones. Hermione led Ron over to the massive skull and donned the gloves Snape gave her. She laid out one of her jumpers on the ground beside her and knelt in front of the skull, then lifted her wand and carefully cut the fangs free with a spell. After placing them on the jumper, she repeated the process on the other side of the basilisk's enormous jaw. Then, she wrapped all but one of them in the jumper and put it inside her bag.

“Get the cup,” Ron said anxiously.

“I am,” she said.

Hermione stood up and put the cup on the ground between herself and Ron. She studied the fang in her hand. It looked dried out. Hopefully Snape was right, and it would still have enough residual venom in it to do the job. The fang was still sharp and sturdy, not at all brittle with decay.

“Do you want me to...?” Ron asked.

“No, I'll do it,” Hermione said.

She crouched and stabbed the fang down into the opening of the cup, which began to shriek hideously, like a demonic tea kettle. Hermione smiled grimly. It felt good to destroy something that deserved to be destroyed, at last.


	8. The Shrieking Shack

“Great job, Hermione,” Ron said, staring at the broken and blackened cup. “Just had a thought, though...”

Hermione blinked and looked up at him. She was still crouched on the ground.

“What?” she asked.

“How are we getting out of here?” he asked.

“I thought we'd fly out,” Hermione said. “Hang on.”

She stood and reached into her bag. Ron's eyes widened as she pulled out first one broomstick, then another.

“Where'd you get those?” he asked. “Wait, is that Charlie's old broom? You took those from our house?!”

Hermione grinned sheepishly.

“Actually, I forgot they were in there until today. Merlin, I hate flying, though.”

“You could ride with me, if you want,” Ron said.

“That's okay, Ron. Let's just go find Harry,” she replied.

They hopped on their broomsticks and left. Adrenaline pumped through Hermione's veins after their success in the Chamber of Secrets. Finally, something had gone right. The exhilaration didn't last. As soon as they stepped out of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, they heard the screams and shouts, the sound of spells blasting at the protective enchantments and ricocheting off of the castle walls, which shook.

“It's begun,” Hermione said, grabbing Ron's arm.

They ran to the Room of Requirement. As they approached, Harry came running up from the opposite direction.

“Well? Any luck?” he asked hopefully.

“We did it, Harry. The cups is destroyed, and we have more fangs,” Hermione said. “What about you?”

“I think we're looking for Ravenclaw's Lost Diadem,” he said. “It's the only thing that makes sense... and I think we're looking for it right here, in the Room of Requirement.”

“Really?” Hermione asked.

“If Tom Riddle had the diadem and required a place to hide it at Hogwarts...” Harry said.

“It's worth a try,” Hermione agreed.

They entered the room to find Ginny, Tonks, and Neville's gran, who followed them out into the corridor so that Harry could get the room to change.

“I'm not staying here any longer,” Ginny said. “I'm not going to hide while the rest of my family fights.”

“Ginny, wait!” said Harry, grabbing her before she could take off down the hall.

Harry looked at her as if he was trying to memorize every detail of her face. Ginny hugged him tightly.

“Good luck, Harry,” she said. “I hope you find what you're looking for.”

Harry kissed her, and Hermione felt Ron's arm come to rest on her waist. Tonks and Mrs. Longbottom quietly averted their eyes for a moment.

“Ginny, don't ever let your mum know I didn't stop you,” Tonks said, after the couple broke apart and Ginny started walking away from them.

“Keep an eye on her, Tonks, will you?” Harry asked.

“Of course, Harry,” Tonks said, hurrying after Ginny.

Mrs. Longbottom followed after Tonks, mumbling, “Can't believe we're still fighting this monster.”

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione.

“What's wrong, Ron?” he asked.

Hermione looked over to see a concerned frown on Ron's face.

“I was just thinking – someone should warn the house-elves. Do they know what's happening?”

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed. “You thought of the house-elves.”

She grabbed his face and planted a kiss on his lips, much to Harry's surprise. Hermione laughed. She'd forgotten for a moment that Harry didn't know about her and Ron. Ron grinned dopily down at her and shrugged.

“I guess you're rubbing off on me,” he said.

Harry had begun pacing back and forth, and in a moment they were able to re-enter the Room of Requirement. This time it was packed floor to ceiling with piles of forgotten discarded objects. The sheer amount of things in the room gave Hermione a moment of panic as she looked around.

“How are ever going to find anything in here?” Ron moaned. “It's going to be impossible.”

“We'll split up,” Harry said. “Start looking!”

Ron waited until Harry disappeared into the stacks of junk, and stole another quick kiss from Hermione. She smiled and then waved him away.

“We're out of time, Ron,” she said, and started her own search.

After fifteen minutes or so of winding her way through the piles of objects, most of which were broken, Hermione hopefully pulled out her wand and said, “ _Accio Diadem”_. Nothing happened, of course. That would be too easy.

“What's a diadem?” said a voice.

Hermione whirled around to see Draco Malfoy standing half-hidden behind an enormous stack of broken chairs, his wand trained on her.

“Malfoy,” she said. “I figured you would have run away with the rest of the Slytherins by now.”

“And I figured Potter would be hiding out here,” said Malfoy, smirking malevolently at her.

He took a step toward her.

“I'm shocked to see you alive, Granger,” he said. “How did you manage to escape the Dark Lord's prison cell? Nobody's ever done that before.”

“Why would I tell you?” Hermione asked.

Malfoy shrugged and said, “I dunno. Just curious.”

“I'm curious, too,” Hermione said, her hand at the ready on her wand to defend herself. “Did you really come here looking for Harry... or were you just hoping to avoid having to fight?”

She ducked around stack of boxes and ran her shoulder into a broom that was propped up on them. She grabbed it, even though it probably didn't fly, and sprinted to the next pile of junk she saw. Malfoy laughed.

“I'm not the one scurrying away like a frightened little mouse,” he said.

Hermione mounted the broom and said a little prayer before attempting to fly it. To her great surprise, it rose off the ground without bucking or shaking. Malfoy did not see her as she cleared the junk pile between them with her wand pointed at his head.

“ _Stupefy!”_

Malfoy dropped to the ground, smacking his head on a desk on the way down. A small cut on his forehead began bleeding profusely.

“Harry!” Hermione called, looking up and scanning the room.

She gasped as she saw flames licking the air. One corner of the room was on fire, and it was spreading quickly. This was no ordinary fire.

“Harry! Ron!” Hermione screeched in terror, using her pitiful flying skills to try to find them below.

When she saw them dueling Crabbe and Goyle, surrounded by Fiendfyre, she halted and opened her beaded bag.

“ _Accio brooms!_ ” she said, and the handles flew up out of the opening.

“Harry!” she screamed and thankfully he heard her. She dropped one of the brooms to him, and the other to Ron as soon as he looked up.

Crabbe and Goyle continued firing curses at them as they made their escape.

“Idiots! They're going to die!” said Harry.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed.

“We can't... Hermione we should help them,” Harry said, as Goyle began to scream in terror.

“They are trying to kill YOU, Harry,” Hermione said. “You can't help them, but I know who you can.”

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Hermione led them to where Malfoy had fallen. He was still unconscious.

“Did you do that?” Ron asked.

Hermione did not reply. She turned to Harry.

“Can you fly and levitate him at the same time?” she asked. “I don't think I can mange both.”

Harry nodded, took out his wand, and said, “ _Levicorpus!”_

Malfoy's body was snatched into the air beside them.

“Hurry!” Hermione urged, as the heat from the flames grew more oppressive. There was only a narrow path left for them to escape without catching fire. Ron led the way.

She was so focused on getting out of the room before the Fiendfyre reached the exit, that she did not notice the screams of Crabbe and Goyle until the very moment the doors shut behind them. Then, she stood in the silence with her friends and shuddered.

“What about the diadem?” Ron asked after a while.

“If it was in there, the Fiendfyre would have destroyed it,” Hermione said. “I can't believe they used that spell. Everyone knows it's impossible to control Fiendfyre.”

Harry and Ron exchanged looks that said they might not have known it. Suddenly, Harry winced and cried out in pain.

“It was definitely in there,” he said through gritted teeth. “He felt it – another one – destroyed.”

Harry held his head and writhed in pain for a few seconds before he could speak again.

“Like I said. It was in there. It's gone,” he repeated, panting. “All that's left is the snake. And...”

“Hermione, what did you do to him?” Ron asked.

He nudged Malfoy with his foot. His face was smeared all over with bright red blood from the wound on his head.

“I only knocked him out,” Hermione said. “He hit his head when he fell.”

“What should we do with him?” asked Ron.

Hermione sighed. She pointed her wand at Malfoy and conjured up magical bindings for his hands and feet. The boys watched silently while she worked at cleaning up his face and poured a drop of dittany on his wound. The pain of it brought him back to consciousness snarling.

“Relax, Malfoy, she's helping you,” Harry said.

“Shut up, Potter. I didn't ask for help from a Mudblood!” spat Malfoy.

Hermione resisted the urge to smack the face that she'd just cleaned.

“Harry, see if the room will change back,” she said.

Surprisingly, it did. Hermione marveled at the mysteries of Hogwart's magic. The empty room filled with hammocks, and the sealed passageway greeted them once again. They put Malfoy inside, propped up against a corner. Harry took his wand.

“That's the second wand of yours I've taken,” he gloated.

“Don't worry, you'll be safe here,” Hermione said sweetly. “That's what you were looking for wasn't it? A place to hide from the battle?”

Malfoy only glared back at her.

“Where are Crabbe and Goyle?” he asked, as they were leaving.

“Dead. Thanks to their own stupidity,” Hermione said. “You would've been too, if Harry hadn't saved you.”

Malfoy's nostrils flared and he appeared to be shaking with anger. Hermione shut the door and turned around. Harry and Ron stared at her.

“What if nobody ever finds him?” Ron asked.

“Somebody will,” Hermione said, thinking, _even if none of us makes it._

“It time to find the snake,” Harry said.

They stood without speaking for a few minutes. Hermione wanted to hug Harry again, but she resisted. They listened to the sounds of the continuing battle.

“If we're going to find the snake, we're going to have to find You-Know-Who,” Hermione said. “Before we go down there we need to know where he is. Harry...”

Harry nodded and with a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes. Moments of wincing later, he nodded again.

“He's in the Shrieking Shack. The snake is there, too,” said Harry. “And... he wants to talk to Snape.”

The sinking feeling returned to Hermione's stomach.

“Hermione, give me one of those fangs. I should go alone,” said Harry.

“No,” Hermione said, at the same time as Ron spoke.

“Absolutely not, mate.”

Harry opened his mouth to argue and Hermione hugged him fiercely.

“We're not letting you do it alone, so don't argue,” she said.

The sinking feeling only grew heavier as they made their way through the castle, through the battle, and down to the Shrieking Shack under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak. It was slow going, and it was hard to resist jumping into the fray of the battle around them to help their friends. Hermione's grip on her wand was so strong that her hand started to cramp.

Finally, they made it to the Whomping Willow.

“You two stay out here,” Harry pleaded.

“No way,” Ron said. “Not happening.”

With that, Ron disabled the Whomping Willow with a well-placed Levitation Charm.

“Let's go kill a snake,” he said.

They crawled through the secret passage. Harry led the way, covered in the Invisibility Cloak. They could hear voices as they neared the end. Ron and Hermione piled together, peering through Harry's cloaked body into the room. Their view was obscured by clutter in front of the opening, but Hermione caught a glimpse of Nagini, floating in the air. Voldemort had her encased in some kind of protective charm. That was not good at all.

Still, Hermione painstakingly fiddled with her beaded bag in the cramped tunnel, until she had managed to put on one of the dragon-hide gloves and she held a basilisk fang at the ready in her palm. Ron noticed and began motioning for her to let him have the fang. Hermione resolutely shook her head. Ron was distracted then by Harry shoving something into his face – the Sorting Hat. Ron took the hat and immediately froze. His mouth dropped open as he reached his other hand into the hat and pulled out a few inches of the hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor.

Hermione could not help smiling and felt a little reassured that if she failed with the fang, Ron could make sure the snake was destroyed. But how were they going to get to it in the first place? All they could do for the moment was wait and listen to Snape as he tried to convince Voldemort to let him go find Harry and bring him to the Dark Lord.

The two wizards were pacing around one another. Snape seemed determined to stay as far from the enormous floating snake as possible, as it followed its master around the room. Hermione wished there was a way to tell him they were there – maybe then he could break the protective bubble for them.

Then she heard Voldemort say, “Enough about Potter. He'll come to me if he thinks it will save his pathetic comrades in the castle. I called you here for another reason, Severus. You have been such a valuable and faithful servant. That is why I regret what must be done.”

That pit in Hermione's stomach threatened to leap out of her throat. She nudged the boys. Ron looked at her wide-eyed in confusion, but the hand that reached for Harry only found empty air. Hermione looked up to see a crate scoot slowly sideways in front of them. What was Harry doing?

Hermione crawled to the end of the passage, gripping the fang in her gloved hand tightly, her wand in her other hand. The crate was now situated so that she had a good view of Snape who was as white as a sheet. Nothing good could come after the words the Dark Lord had just spoken.

Hermione felt Ron's body heat at her side and despite everything it was comforting. As she stared at Snape, who had stopped pacing and taken a few steps backward as he tried to reason with Voldemort, she saw the snake-bubble float into view. Snape backed away until he was pressed into the dusty wall of the shack. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, and Hermione lifted her wand and directed her thoughts to it.

_Protego!_

Her weak nonverbal spell managed to hit its mark without catching Voldemort's attention. Nagini's bubble was slowed just enough in its path toward Snape's head that he was able to duck away, pull out his wand, and put up his own protective shield. The snake-bubble followed him and bounced against his shield a few times.

“Oh, Severus...” said Voldemort, chuckling vilely. “Don't make this difficult. You know what happens to those who resist me.”

“I did not disarm Dumbledore! I am not the wand's master!” Snape said frantically, then seemed to get a hold of himself. His next words were measured.

“Kill me, and you only lose a faithful servant. You don't need me to bring you Potter, but you do need me to bring you Draco Malfoy – the true master of that wand,” Snape said. “Narcissa has not been able to locate her son. He must still be in the castle.”

Ron squeezed Hermione's arm. She placed a reassuring hand over his and hoped Harry was smart enough to stay hidden.

Voldemort took a long moment to consider Snape's words. Finally, he spoke.

“Show me that you aren't lying,” he said.

Reluctantly, Snape released his shield and stepped away from Nagini again. He put his wand to his temple and pulled out a memory. Hermione lost sight of him as he offered it to Voldemort. Another long silence.

“Very well. Bring me Draco Malfoy,” said Voldemort. “Meet me in the Forbidden Forest when you have him. You know the place.”

With a whoosh of air, Voldemort flew out of the Shrieking Shack, straight up through a hole in the ceiling, which Hermione had not noticed before. In the silence, Hermione heard Snape breathing shakily.

“Who's there?” Snape asked. He stepped back into her sight line, peering into the darkness where he certainly knew someone was hiding in the tunnel.

Hermione took Ron's hand and pulled him out of the tunnel with her. Snape lowered his wand.

“I'm glad one of you paid attention in Defense class,” he said, looking at Hermione. “Why are you here?”   
  


“The snake,” Hermione said. “We have to destroy it. Is there any way to break the enchantments around it?”

Snape shuddered, perhaps thinking about how close he'd come to breaking through them with his own head.

“I do not know,” he said.

Harry appeared from under the cloak, but Snape hardly seemed surprised to see him.

“Are you really going to take Malfoy to him?” asked Harry.

“That's not your concern, Potter,” said Snape wearily.

“Yes it is, because you're wrong. Malfoy isn't the master of the Elder wand. I am,” said Harry.

Snape peered at Harry.

“How so?”

“I disarmed Malfoy not too long ago, when we were being held at Malfoy Manor,” Harry said, holding up his wand for Snape to see.

Hermione's eyes widened. She had not been conscious to witness Harry take Draco's wand, and had completely forgotten that it was the wand he now used. Was Harry right? Was he truly the master of the Elder Wand?

A particularly loud _BOOM_ shook the air and the walls of the shack. Hermione heard screams of panic in the distance.

“The only way he's going to stop protecting the snake is if he's distracted,” Harry said.

Hermione frowned, wondering if Harry was right.

“Is that true?” she asked Snape. “Would the spells weaken if he is drawn into a duel?”

Snape shook his head and said, “It is possible. Protective spells are not invincible, and if attacked with enough power and repetition could be broken – as long as the Dark Lord is unable to renew them.”

“What do you think would happen if someone tried to pop that bubble with a basilisk fang... or this?” Ron asked, revealing the hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor briefly.

“It may work,” Snape said. “If so, it would be a great deal more efficient than hitting it with enough spells to break through.”

“All right,” said Harry, looking at Ron. “We have a plan.”

“We do?” Hermione asked. “That's hardly a plan.”

Harry shrugged and said, “It's all we've got. We've got to do it soon, before the castle falls completely. They can't defend it forever, Hermione. There's not enough of them.”

“I will bring Malfoy to the Dark Lord,” Snape said, as if talking to himself. “You three will follow under the cloak. If Potter is truly the master of the Elder Wand, he should be able to hold the Dark Lord in a duel long enough for Weasley and Granger to kill the snake.”

Snape's eyes moved to Hermione's face.

“Weasley should try using the sword first, while you cover him. The Dark Lord will likely have a few followers with him in the Forbidden Forest,” he said.

“And once the snake is destroyed...” Snape continued, looking at Harry.

Harry nodded, his face set in the determined expression Hermione knew so well. It was the look he always got when he would not be dissuaded from a decision.

“I must go find Malfoy,” Snape said.

“No,” Hermione said, stepping in front of him.

He scowled down at her.

“You don't have to do that,” she said. “We've already got Malfoy tied up hidden in the castle. We'll bring him to you.”

If Snape was surprised by that revelation, he did not show it.

“No,” he said. “Aster!”

The house-elf that had rescued Hermione from certain death appeared in the room with a _pop_.

“Where is he?” Snape asked Hermione.

“He's in the Room of Requirement,” said Hermione, “On the seventh floor, behind the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.”

“I know where it is,” Snape said.

You and everyone else, Hermione thought.

“Get under that cloak, the three of you. Aster, go to the Room of Requirement and bring me Draco Malfoy,” Snape said.

Aster bowed and snapped her fingers. A moment later she reappeared with Malfoy, who wore a look of panic which only grew more pronounced as he took in his new surroundings.

“Snape? What's going on? How did you know where I was?” he asked suspiciously.

“I didn't. Aster found you,” Snape said. “The Dark Lord has asked for you.”

Malfoy looked sick at those words.

“Aren't you going to undo these binds for me?” he asked.

Snape pointed his wand at Malfoy's feet and freed his legs. He helped Malfoy to his feet, but did not free his hands.

“What are you doing?” Malfoy asked, looking over his shoulder after waiting for his hands to be freed for a moment.

“Aster, before you go, could you open that door for us?” Snape asked.

Aster nodded and turned to the forever-locked door of the shack. With a great _CRACK!_ it flew off of the frame and landed on the ground a few yards away.

“Thank you, Aster. You may go,” Snape said.

He grabbed Malfoy by the arm and with his other hand pointed his wand at the magical bond holding them together.

“The Dark Lord has asked me to bring you to him. Do not attempt to escape, or I shall be forced to incapacitate you,” he said.

Malfoy's hands broke free and Snape reversed Hermione's spells, and he yanked them away from Snape's grasp.   
  
“I don't even have a wand,” he said.

“Good,” Snape said, poking his wand into Malfoy's back. “We're going to the Forbidden Forest.”


	9. The Dark Lord

With Snape following Malfoy, and Hermione, Ron, and Harry close behind under the cloak, they made their way into the forest. Hermione was still holding the basilisk fang, although she'd wrapped a scarf around it so that she didn't accidentally poke Ron or Harry with it as they huddled together.

Snape led them deep into the forest. On the way, Hermione saw a few enormous spiders scuttling past them, in the direction of the castle. Hermione shivered as they walked and looked up to see Dementors circling above their heads in the treetops – but they did not seem to notice that anyone was creeping through the forest floor below.

They reached a clearing in the trees, where a small, green-flamed magical fire burned. Voldemort was standing alone behind the flames. Behind him, on the opposite side of the clearing, sat a giant guarding what appeared to be a much smaller giant – no, Hermione realized. It was Hagrid, bound and gagged. The trio stopped behind a large tree and watched Malfoy and Snape step out into the clearing.

“Ah, Severus, you have returned so quickly. Where did you find our missing Death Eater?” he asked.

Snape did not speak right away, and Malfoy answered.

“I was in the castle looking for Potter, my lord,” said Malfoy.

“I see. As it turns out, I don't need anyone to look for Potter, Draco,” said Voldemort.   
  


Hermione held her breath, wondering if their cover had somehow been blown already.

“As I've reminded Severus, the boy will come to me, when he realizes it's the only way to save his friends. They're dying right now as our forces overwhelm the castle. Their protections have failed. Their numbers are few and falling every minute.”

Malfoy nodded, looking down at the ground. Harry began leading them from their spot behind the tree around the edge of the clearing, trying to get closer to the place where Nagini hovered to Voldemort's left.

“Perhaps you are wondering why I asked Severus to bring you here,” Voldemort continued.

Harry stopped them behind another large tree, and removed himself from under the cloak, leaving only Ron and Hermione invisible. He braced himself against the bark and closed his eyes. He opened them again and motioned for Ron and Hermione to go on. They began creeping toward Nagini. Hermione cast dampening charms on their feet so they could move a little faster.

“How may I be of service, my lord?” asked Malfoy, with a shaking voice.

“Is it true that it was you, not Severus, who trapped and disarmed Albus Dumbledore before his death?” asked Voldemort.

Malfoy did not get a chance to answer, because at that moment, Harry leapt out from behind the tree with his wand in the air, and stunned Malfoy. For the second time that day, Malfoy dropped heavily to the ground.

“Why are you wasting time picking on Malfoy, when I'm the one you really want?!” shouted Harry.

As fast as they could scramble, Ron and Hermione closed the distance to the snake in the magic bubble. Ron threw off the cloak and swung the sword into the air. His downswing met the protective enchantments sooner than anticipated, as Voldemort sent Nagini's bubble hurtling backward into the forest before he attacked Harry. The bubble popped as easily as if it were made out of soap and Nagini fell out of the air hissing. Still concealed by the cloak, Hermione stuck out her arm, lifted the basilisk fang, and stabbed it into the enormous snake's writhing body with all her might.

The snake continued hissing, now in pain, but Voldemort seemed not to notice. He was shooting Killing Curse after Killing Curse at Harry, who was managing to block and dodge every one. Snape also sent curses toward Harry, until Voldemort screamed at him.

“Leave Potter to me and take care of the other!”

Hermione tripped over the cloak and fell backwards, which was lucky because it meant Nagini's angry snap at the source of her pain only hit the air where Hermione had been standing. Ron swung the Sword of Gryffindor once more, and neatly took off the snake's head. Blood sprayed and splattered in every direction as the snake's body fell and writhed for a moment.

Everything happened at once. The giant made a beeline for Ron, who ran back into the forrest with the sword. Hermione tucked her feet back under the cloak and stood up. Snape ran past her and pointed his wand at the snake's body. It flopped again, as if in a final death-spasm, at precisely the moment the giant stepped over it. With a body-shaking crash, the giant tripped and fell face-first into the ground.

Snape ran past Malfoy and took off after Ron, and he must have Rennervated Malfoy in the process, because he sat up suddenly. He took one look at the angry troll, then at Voldemort and Harry, and slunk off into the forest with wide eyes and a white face. Crashing sounds came from the forest where Ron had disappeared, and moments later Snape came running back out followed by Grawp.

“HAGGAR!” shouted Grawp.

Behind him, Ron brandished the sword and taunted Snape. Grawp chased the other giant off, and the sounds of them bashing one another with trees and boulders could be heard fading into the forest in the opposite direction.

Then Hermione's breath was snatched from her lungs when Snape turned around and hit Ron with a flash of green spell-work. Ron's body fell. The world stopped. Hermione was suffocating under the cloak. Her feet were frozen to the spot where she stood. She could hear Hagrid's muffled wails from behind her. Harry did not see Ron fall, because as Snape and Grawp exited the forest, Harry stopped dodging Voldemort's curses and disappeared behind a tree.

Voldemort laughed.

“Tired, Potter?” he asked.

Snape went over to where Ron lay on the ground in the underbrush. He took back the Sorting Hat and shoved it into his pocket, then picked up the Sword of Gryffindor and walked across the clearing to stand with Voldemort, who was still mocking Harry.

“Come out and kneel, Potter. Beg me to spare the rest of your friends, and your death will be the last one tonight,” he said.

He laughed.

“I'll even spare the Mudbloods.”

Harry emerged from behind the tree. He walked out into the clearing with his hands empty, palms open. This was it, the moment Hermione had been dreading. She would be his only friend to witness it.

Snape raised his arm and wordlessly summoned Harry's wand from his pocket. In a move that Hermione knew went against every fiber of Harry's being, he stopped and dropped to his knees a short distance away from Voldemort and Snape.

Voldemort raised his wand and said softly, “ _Avada Kevadra_ ”.

And Harry fell forward as tears streamed down Hermione's face. Voldemort did not move.

“Is he dead, Severus?” he asked.

Snape obediently knelt over Harry's body for a moment before saying, “Yes”

Hermione's feet seemed to have a mind of their own as she watched Snape stand up. His long black cloak rippled mournfully over Harry's back. Hermione crept toward the two wizards.

“And what have you confiscated from the other one? Could it be... the true Sword of Gryffindor?” Voldemort asked, sounding almost giddy. “A most elusive artifact. One I have sought after... for so long.”

Snape raised the sword to shoulder height and lay the edge carefully in the palm of his other hand. He appraised the blade closely as did Voldemort. Hermione stuck her gloved hand back into her beaded purse, reaching for another basilisk fang, each careful, quiet step taking her closer to Voldemort's back.

She was close enough now that she couldn't see Snape's face anymore.

“I believe so,” Snape said quietly.

In one sudden, unexpected movement, he forcefully swept the blade into the neck of the Dark Lord. As she realized what was happening, Hermione threw off the cloak and leapt forward. She drove the basilisk fang into Voldemort's back, as close to his heart as she could manage. Leaving it stuck there, she kept moving, out of his reach. Voldemort choked and hissed as he fell to the ground. Snape snatched the Elder Wand from his hand and then grimaced as he raised the sword again.

Hermione watched in shock as the blade swung down and bit into the earth, separating snake-like head from body. Snape dropped the sword on the ground and fell to his knees. Hermione walked up to him and stood staring at his faraway expression.

“If you want to kill me, Granger, this is your chance,” he said in a strange voice. The wind whipped his lank hair back from his pale face, pulling a few strands across his forehead.

Hermione picked up the Sword of Gryffindor and looked at the bloodied blade.

“Hermione!”

Hers eyes moved from the blade to the treeline, where Ron stood shouting at her.

“Is it over?!” Ron asked.

Crying, Hermione nodded.

“Voldemort's dead, Ron,” she said.

Ron wiped his eyes and began to walk toward them.

“Ron, go help Hagrid,” Hermione said, as her ears registered another wail of despair coming from the half-giant.

Hermione sniffed and wiped her face. Finding a boldness she didn't know she had, she reached into Snape's pocket and pulled out the Sorting Hat. She pointed her wand at the sword and cleaned it with a spell before she gingerly stuck the blade inside the hat. It slid neatly into the opening and disappeared when Hermione let go of the hilt.

“They're coming,” Snape said.

He rose slowly to his feet, looking upward at the dark sky. Hermione followed his gaze and saw Dementors circling above them like buzzards circling a carcass. A hand on Hermione's shoulder broke her out of the cold haze that was threatening to overtake her thoughts.

“Hermione,” Ron said. “I can't... I can't do the spell...”

His wand was pointed at the sky. He closed his eyes and shivered, but despite his look of concentration, nothing happened when he said, “ _Expecto Partonum!”_

Hermione closed her eyes as well and tried to summon happy thoughts, her happiest memories, but all she could see were the dead eyes of Severus Snape and Harry's body lying cold on the ground. She could hear the swishing sounds of the Dementors in the breeze, coming closer and closer.

“ _EXPECTO PATRONUM!”_

Hermione's eyes shot open and her head, along with Ron, Hagrid, and Snape's turned to see Harry sitting half-way up in the grass, pointing his wand at the descending hoard of hungry shadows.

“Harry!” Hermione screamed.

Harry jumped to his feet as his patronus chased every last Dementor away. He was grinning from ear to ear as Ron and Hermione enveloped him in a crushing hug, Hermione crying hysterically. Hagrid wrapped his arms around all three of them and lifted them off the ground for a moment.

“How are you alive!?” Hermione asked. “Oh, never mind!”

After a few moments they stood apart again, and realized Snape had been watching them. He did not look the least bit surprised to see Harry alive. The crackle of magical warfare in the distance interrupted Hermione's thoughts.

“The battle is still going on,” she said. “We have to stop it!”

They looked at one another tiredly. Hagrid stomped over to examine Voldemort's body.

“Well, I reckon this might do it,” he said, picking up the fallen Dark Lord's head. He was able to hold it easily in one enormous palm.

Ron and Harry stared slack-jawed. Hermione's stomach lurched sickeningly and she turned away.

“I reckon you're right, Hagrid,” said Ron faintly.

They each cast a patronus to protect them on the way back to the castle. Snape sent his doe ahead of them with a message to the Order: _Voldemort is dead. Harry Potter lives._

Arriving at the castle, where the fight had moved inside now, they were astonished to see that the centaurs had joined the battle, as evidenced by the many fallen Death Eaters pinned to the ground with arrows. Inside the Great Hall, they discovered that the house-elves had also entered the fight with surprising effectiveness. Hermione was stunned to see many, many more witches and wizards fighting against what remained of the Death Eaters. Word of the battle must have brought people to the castle from across the country. The Death Eaters were overwhelmed, most of their numbers either lying injured or dead. Many others had already deserted the battle.

Hermione stood with her friends and Snape in the doorway of the Great Hall, astonished. It was not long before someone noticed them and cheered. Hagrid lifted Voldemort's head in the air as the cheers overtook the crowd. As the remaining Death Eaters realized what was going on they began to fall to the ground in surrender. The Aurors soon had every enemy subdued and began marching them down to the castle gate.

“Well. What am I gonna do with this now?” Hagrid asked, scowling. “Can't leave it here.”

They went back to the Forbidden Forest together, even Snape. Nobody spoke until they returned to the clearing. The sun was rising and the delicate morning light made the setting seem both serene and sinister. The green fire was nothing but coals until Snape pointed his wand at it and stoked it back to life. Harry levitated the body into the flames, then Hagrid placed the head squarely on top. They stood in an uneven circle, watching the last of Tom Riddle disappear into smoke and ash. Later, Hermione supposed they could have achieved the same end with a spell more efficiently. The green flames left nothing but fine ash behind, which would be carried away on the wind.

Hermione hugged herself and finally looked around at the group with her. Nobody seemed to know what to say. Nobody wanted to return to the castle and count the casualties.

“I'm goin' to look fer Grawp,” said Hagrid.

He hugged all of them, with the exception of Snape, and trudged off into the woods, followed the trail of destruction the two giants had left.

“Did you see Ginny before we left?” Harry asked Ron.

Ron nodded and said, “Yeah, mate. I saw her. Ginny's okay.”

“We should go... check on everyone,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed.

Ron put his arm around Hermione. She walked a few paces with him, and then stopped.

“You boys go on. I'll catch up,” she whispered, flicking her eyes back to where Snape stood still staring at the dying coals.

“He'll be okay,” Ron said, making a face.

“I have some questions I want answered,” she said, thinking there might never be another chance to ask them.

Ron let go of her reluctantly and Hermione watched him leave with Harry. She turned around. Snape was still staring at the glowing coals. Hermione approached him cautiously.

“You should go with Potter and Weasley,” Snape said.

“I can't,” Hermione said. “I can't see anyone else right now.”

Hermione noticed that he was still holding the Elder Wand in his hand.

“I suppose Dumbledore always meant for you to be the wand's master,” Hermione said. “Not Draco. Or Harry.”

“It would seem so,” Snape replied.

“And he wanted you to kill Voldemort with the Elder Wand, after Harry sacrificed himself,” said Hermione. “That was the rest of the plan.”

Snape did not reply. He tucked the wand into his robe.

“Why did you decide to use the sword instead?” asked Hermione.

He finally looked at her, as if he had not considered the question himself yet.

“The opportunity presented itself. Distracted by an object he greatly desired, the Dark Lord did not suspect my intentions. If I waited, perhaps he might have.”

Hermione hugged herself again.

“I wish I hadn't seen it,” she admitted. “Perhaps I'll remove that memory.”

“You likely should,” Snape agreed.

“Will you? Remove yours?” she asked.

He slowly shook his head.

“No.”

Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out Bellatrix's wand. She tossed it onto the coals. They watched it smoke for a while, then burn. As it caught fire, Snape sighed and reached his hand out over the fire. He dropped the Elder Wand next to Hermione's offering. Hermione gasped.

“Why?” she asked.

He looked at her.

“I was nearly murdered because of that wand once already,” he said.

They watched the wands burn down. Hermione imagined Ron would come back looking for her soon if she did not return to her friends.

“Are you coming back to the castle?” she asked.

“I think not,” he said. “You should go now, Granger.”

Hermione nodded and walked away. At the edge of the clearing, she looked back and saw him still standing there by the ashes of the fire.


	10. Longing

The aftermath of the battle was worse than what Hermione had witnessed in the clearing that day. Among the casualties were Fred Weasley and Tonks. Lupin was reportedly alive, but nowhere to be found until Harry thought to look for him in the Shrieking Shack. Other deaths included Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown, and other witches, wizards, and house-elves whose names Hermione did not know. One centaur had also died, and already been taken back to the Forbidden Forest by the others.

Ron was entirely silent for weeks. Harry and Hermione grieved with him, and most of their days were spent working to rebuild the castle together. Hermione had nowhere else to go, and Harry refused to leave Hogwarts until everything was put right again.

Though Hermione would never say the words out loud, she thought the losses from the battle could have been much worse. They were lucky to still have so many friends, classmates, and professors left alive.

Many evenings in a row, Hermione sat down with an empty vial to remove her memory of Snape killing Voldemort, but even though the image haunted her and gave her nightmares, she could not bring herself to get rid of it. Though horrifying to recall the image, Hermione did not want to forget how good it felt to watch the vile dark wizard die. Only Hermione, Snape, and perhaps a few other Death Eaters knew the depths of the Dark Lord's depravity. How good it must have felt for Snape to deliver that blow.

The boys wanted to go into Auror training right away, but Hermione was not finished with her education. She was determined to take all of her N.E.W.T.s and pass with Outstanding marks. Unfortunately for Ron, while the Auror training program offered Harry Potter a spot without meeting the N.E.W.T. requirements, that offer was not extended to any other Hogwarts students who missed their seventh year.

“Why aren't you mad about this?” Ron wanted to know, when Hermione learned that Harry would not be returning to Hogwarts with them.

“I _want_ to take the N.E.W.T.s, Ron,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, but you already know so much more than Harry about magic,” Ron said. “He shouldn't get to skip the tests. If anyone should, it's you.”

“Ron, he doesn't get to skip them. They're going to let him start training and study for the tests while he's becoming an Auror. It's going to be _more_ work for him that way,” Hermione said.

“Whatever,” Ron grumbled. “At least I'll get to play Quidditch again.”

They were sitting in the Gryffindor common room. Harry was somewhere out on the castle grounds with Ginny.

“Harry offered to let me stay at Grimmauld Place with him,” Hermione said.

“Oh, I see,” Ron said. He wanted Hermione to come back to the Burrow with him, but she couldn't. It was too hard to be around all the grieving Weasleys at once, and Hermione did not want Ron to get the wrong idea about their relationship. She regretted kissing him before the battle.

“Are you going to? Live with Harry?” Ron asked.

“I think so,” Hermione said.

“What about your mum and dad?” asked Ron.

“I'll go find them one day. Not yet.”

Hermione was terrified of reuniting with her parents. She needed to study Mind Magic before she dared try to undo the spells she'd used on them. Modifying memories was one thing. Restoring them was another.

Ron put his arm around her and Hermione allowed it for a few moments. When he let his head roll over to touch hers, she sighed.

“Ron.”

He looked up, his face inches away from hers, and considered her mouth seriously. Hermione's resolve melted a little at his sad look of longing.

“I miss you,” Ron said.

“We've been together every day since the battle, Ron,” she said.

“I know, but I miss you. I love you, Hermione,” he said plaintively.

“Ron,” she said again.

Hermione pulled away from him.

“I'm not ready,” she said. “I don't know if I ever will be, Ron. I think we should just be friends.”

“Don't say that, Hermione,” he pleaded. “We never really tried. We should try. Now that the war's over.”

Hermione's anger with Ron over what happened during their search for the horcruxes had faded significantly. She remembered the way her heart broke when she thought Snape had killed Ron. Hermione touched Ron's face, and kissed him lightly. It felt nice. It wasn't the same as before, but it was nice. Ron enthusiastically kissed her back.

“We belong together,” he said.

“I don't know, Ron. I don't know,” Hermione said, wondering about the panic rising in her chest. She shook her head.

An expression of deep hurt crossed Ron's face, and then he scowled.

“I'm going down to the kitchens,” he said.

Hermione sighed heavily and fell back against the sofa. Ron was so impatient. It was hardly the time to be jumping into a relationship. Life was so strange and different. It would never be the same again. Something in Hermione was so altered from the girl who had a crush on Ron. It seemed like it was a lifetime ago.

Besides, Hermione thought, Ron refused to talk about Fred, even though the loss had changed him. He wanted things to go back to normal. Perhaps that's why he was so upset that Harry would not be joining them in the upcoming school year.

Hermione decided to get out of the common room. She walked through the castle with no destination in mind. Harry and Ginny were probably snogging at the top of the Astronomy Tower again. They had been inseparable since the day after the battle. Eventually, Hermione found herself at the library. It was the most comforting place she knew anymore.

The doors were open, but it was dark inside. Hermione walked in and lit the scones. She walked through the shelves of dusty ancient tomes, and felt a little more like herself.

“I'm not surprised to see you here, too,” said a voice.

It was Luna, standing in the middle of the main aisle holding a book to her chest.

“Hello, Luna,” said Hermione.

The two girls sat down at a table together.

“I thought you went home already,” said Hermione.

“My father needed a few more days at St. Mungo's,” said Luna. “I'll be going home Friday.”

“Is he okay?” asked Hermione.

“He will be, I think,” said Luna. “It will be good to be home. What about you, Hermione? Are you staying at Hogwarts until next term?”

“No, I'll be living with Harry,” said Hermione. “I'm not sure when we'll leave the castle.”

“Harry does love the castle,” Luna agreed.

“We all do,” Hermione said.

Luna nodded.

“I'm glad you'll be here. It was lonely without you and Harry,” she said.

Hermione thought Luna seemed far more down to earth lately. The war had changed her as well. It was odd, talking to Luna without hearing some strange theory about mythical creatures. Hermione and Luna sat reading together for an hour or so that evening. When Hermione returned to the common room, Harry, Ginny, and Ron were all there.

“Did you go to the library again?” asked Harry, looking at the books under her arm.

“I did,” Hermione said. “McGonagall said I could bring some reading home for the rest of the summer.”

Harry laughed and said, “For the rest of the summer? You'll probably be done with those before we leave.”

Hermione sat down in a chair opposite her friends.

“What day _are_ we going to leave?” she asked. “I just talked to Luna. She's leaving Friday.”

Harry looked at Ginny and said, “Friday seems like a good day to go. There's not really anything else left for us to do here.”

So, a few days later, after sharing a meal and drinks together with Luna at the Three Broomsticks, Hermione and Harry hugged Ron and Ginny goodbye and Apparated to Grimmauld Place. The house was dark and empty, but it did not remain that way for long. Lupin was a regular visitor, and often brought baby Teddy to visit Harry, who was his godfather.

Ginny and Ron were often at the house as well, and they would convince Harry and Hermione to come back to the Burrow for dinners and games of Quidditch in the yard. Hermione never played. When the others got out their brooms she pulled out her books. Hermione was deep into her research on Mind Magic, and with each new text she found herself more intrigued by the possibilities of memory modification, restoration, and erasure. Books on the subjects of Occlumency and Legilimency were elusive. Perhaps a sneaky trip back to the Hogwart's library Restricted Section was in order.

Molly Weasley seemed to be puzzled by Ron and Hermione's relationship, or rather the lack thereof. At times, she spoke to Hermione as if she was Ron's girlfriend, and at others she implied that she knew they were just friends. Hermione imagined she was waiting for Hermione to correct her on either front. Apparently Ron had not bothered to explain things to his family.

“Lupin was over with Teddy yesterday,” Molly said one evening, as Hermione was pouring over her latest book and her friends were shouting about Quidditch outside. “He's so good with the baby. I think Teddy is going to look exactly like his mother.”

Hermione nodded, tearing her attention away from her reading.

“We saw them this morning,” Hermione said. “Teddy seems to love Harry. He never cries when Harry's holding him.”

“I think Harry will make a great father one day,” Molly said, clearly imagining the adorable grandchildren Harry and Ginny might eventually give her. Everyone in the Weasley family assumed Harry would be proposing soon... and they probably weren't wrong.

“I think he will,” Hermione said.

Molly smiled and sipped her cup of tea with a faraway look in her eyes.

“And you'll be a lovely mum one day, too, dear,” said Molly, as if it was the highest compliment she could give Hermione.

“Oh, I don't know,” Hermione said, without thinking. “I don't know if I'll ever want children.”

It was as if she'd slapped Molly, who put her cup down suddenly.

“Oh? Really... but surely you will eventually. You're young and full of ambitions, but one day you'll want a family of your own,” Molly said.

Hermione just smiled and looked back down at her book. No need to argue with Mrs.Weasley about her desire to have children, since that decision was not going to affect the Weasleys whatsoever.

The next week, when Ron and Ginny came over to Grimmauld Place, and Harry and Ginny disappeared upstairs to Harry's room, Ron paced around for a minute before flopping down on the sofa with Hermione.

“Hermione... why did you tell my mum you don't want to have kids?” he asked.

Surprised, Hermione took a moment to answer.

“Well, Ron, because she told me I'd be a great mum one day. Why would your mum say that to me? Does she think we're together?”

“No! Well, I don't know. Maybe she does. We haven't discussed it.”

“Ron.”

“We should be together, Hermione. Everyone says so,” Ron pleaded.

Hermione stood up.

“Ron, your family is not 'everyone',” she said.

Ron stood up as well. Hermione looked up into his large, blue puppy-eyed expression and sighed.

“It wouldn't work,” she said.

“We won't know unless we try,” he replied stubbornly. “You never gave it a fair chance. You said we would, after Voldemort was gone.”

Hermione did not say what she was thinking, which was that at the time she told Ron that she had not believed they would both be alive after the war. Ron reached out slowly and touched her hair, then kissed her forehead. Hermione was torn between her annoyance with him and the sweet intimacy of the moments they'd shared in the past. Ron took a tiny step closer and placed his hand on her hip.

Hermione pulled away from him abruptly.

“Ron, stop!” she said, pushing his arm away.

Ron stared at her in shock, then said, “I can't wait forever for you to make up your mind, Hermione!”

  
“Then don't,” she said. “Go snog someone else.”

Ron looked as if he would cry.

“Tell Ginny I'll see her at home,” he said, and left.


	11. Roommates

“Hermione, are you busy?” called Harry from downstairs.

Hermione was lying on her bed reading about the many ways an Occlumens could suppress the emotions connected to their thoughts and memories.

“I'm reading,” she said. “What is it, Harry?”

She heard his footsteps on the stairs.

“I was just wondering if you had a moment to help me with this Transfiguration question,” Harry said.

He had been taking practice tests in the subject since they left the castle. Professor McGonagall had created them just for Harry.

“That depends what you mean by 'help',” Hermione said. She wasn't going to do Harry's studying for him.

“I can't get this spell right,” Harry said, sitting down beside Hermione on the bed and plopping down an open textbook in front of her. “It won't work!”

“Did you first place a Motionless Charm on the toad?” Hermione asked immediately.

“Oh. Ah... no,” said Harry. “Er, thanks, Hermione.”

“No problem,” she said, her eyes already searching for the place she had left off in her reading.

Harry picked up his book and went back downstairs. When Hermione took a break from her research and walked to the kitchen, she saw that Harry was napping on the sofa in the sitting room. After making herself a cup of tea, Hermione sat down on the other end of the sofa and practiced clearing her mind of the nagging anxiety she felt over Ron. He had not been back to Grimmauld Place since she told him to find someone else, and when Hermione went to the Burrow, he avoided speaking to her.

After a few minutes, Hermione sat sipping her tea peacefully, staring at the light streaming in from the open window in front of her. Her thoughts and emotions were suppressed, flowing unobtrusively beneath the surface of the calm, still water she envisioned in her mind.

“Hermione? Er...hello? Hermione?!”

She blinked as she realized Harry was awake and saying her name.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I'm fine,” Hermione said. “I was just, ah... thinking.”

Harry did not look convinced.

“I didn't mean to sleep for so long,” he said, yawning.

Hermione looked at the grandfather clock, which was about to strike four o'clock, in surprise. She had meditated for over an hour. She looked down at the teacup in her hand, and saw that there were a few sips of tea left, which were now cold.

“Is Ginny still coming over for dinner?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry said.

Harry stood up and stretched.

“Ah, so, Hermione...” he said.

“Yes?”

“What – ah – what happened with you and Ron?” Harry asked. “Ginny said he won't be coming tonight.”

Hermione stood up, cupping her cold teacup in her hands.

“Nothing happened, Harry. We're just friends... and I suppose that's the problem,” she said.

Harry clearly wanted to ask for an explanation. He followed Hermione to the kitchen and leaned against the counter as she cleaned and put away her cup.

“But, Hermione, you aren't 'just friends' are you?” he asked. “I saw you kiss him. That wasn't a friendly kiss.”

“Harry...” Hermione sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. “It's a little more complicated than that, you know.”

“No, I don't,” Harry said simply. “The first time I kissed Ginny, it was because I definitely did not want to be 'just friends' and I know you fancy Ron. Don't try to pretend you haven't for years!”

“I did fancy Ron, Harry,” Hermione said. She stared at Harry and decided to tell him the whole truth. After all, he was her best friend.

“Harry, when you saw me kiss Ron... well, that wasn't our first kiss,” she said.

Hermione blushed as Harry's face moved into an expression of surprise.

“We kissed a lot before that, actually,” she said.

  
  
“When?” Harry asked incredulously.

Hermione waited for a moment to see if he would figure it out himself. Nope.

“Harry. Remember that I came to stay at the Burrow before we came to get you at your aunt and uncle's house.”

“Oh.”

Harry frowned.

“Ron didn't say anything,” he said, sounding disappointed.

“No. Like you did with Ginny, we decided it wasn't a good time to be in a relationship,” Hermione said.

Harry nodded and was silent for a while. Hermione got up and began putting things out in preparation for dinner.

“You've changed your mind then,” Harry said.

Hermione looked over her shoulder at him.

“You decided you still don't want to be with Ron, didn't you?” Harry asked.

She nodded.

“Oh.”

Once again, Harry was disappointed. Hermione was tired of feeling like she had let all of Ron's friends and family down just because she didn't want to date him.

“Ron will get over it soon,” said Harry optimistically.

Hermione laughed and said, “I hope so.”

Ginny arrived and the subject was dropped, at least while Hermione was present.

“Mum's sent you a cake,” she said to Harry.

“It's not my birthday yet,” Harry said, as Ginny held up a slightly crooked, but delicious-looking, chocolate cake.

“I think you're going to get a cake every week no matter whose birthday it is or isn't,” Ginny said. “She's started baking again, and I don't think she's going to stop anytime soon.”

For the rest of the summer, Hermione rarely saw Ron. Lupin began showing up more frequently, at times without Teddy. On those occasions, he often brought a book and after chatting with Harry would settle into the sofa in the sitting room to read in peace, while Teddy was watched at home by Andromeda Tonks.

One evening after Lupin had left Grimmauld Place, Harry asked Hermione how she felt about Lupin's visits.

“I like Remus, Harry. You know that,” Hermione said.

“How would you feel about it if he lived here?” asked Harry.

Hermione blinked at Harry in surprise.

“Did something happen with Mrs. Tonks?” she asked.

“No,” Harry said. “I just think it might help him. You know, instead of living in her childhood home with her mother.”

Hermione nodded. She wasn't sure she agreed, though.

“He's been really down about not being able to afford his own place. At least, not one he thinks is nice enough for Teddy to grow up in,” said Harry.

“I can see why that would be difficult for him,” Hermione said. “But surely taking care of Teddy is easier with Mrs. Tonks around. Especially during – ah – certain times of the month.”

“Yeah. I dunno. It might be nice to have him around,” Harry said.

Hermione heard Harry's unspoken wish to have something like a relative alive and near. He might now be of-age but Harry still wanted a parent. He wanted something that felt like home, especially now that he was done with Hogwarts.

“It would be nice,” Hermione said. “Do you think he would accept your offer?”

Hermione did not think it was likely. She was torn between liking the idea of having someone besides Harry to talk to, especially someone with more appreciation for academic pursuits, and her fear that as the only witch in the household she would end up the default carer for Harry's godson.

“Probably not,” Harry said. “But I want to ask. If it's okay with you.”

“Harry, this is your house, I can't tell you who gets to live here,” Hermione said. “I get along with Remus, and I won't be here after school starts, so whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

“All right,” said Harry. “That's good.”

To Hermione's great surprise, Remus moved into Grimmauld Place two weeks later, and baby Teddy was not with him. The night of Harry's birthday, after they returned from celebrating at the Burrow and Harry passed out, snoring loudly on the sofa, Hermione got a chance to talk to Remus alone. She offered him a cup of tea, and they sat together in the dark kitchen, the only light coming through the doorway from the hallway sconces.

“Ah, thank you,” Remus said, accepting the cup of tea Hermione placed in front of him.

She joined him at the table with her own and they sat enjoying the silence of the quiet house after the long evening of cheer and laughter at the Burrow.

“What must you think of me?” he said suddenly, with clear self-loathing.

“I'm sorry... what?” asked Hermione.

Remus closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

“Here I am, a new father in his thirties, living as if I don't have any responsibilities. I know you've been wondering about Teddy, Hermione. You must be wondering,” he said.

Hermione clung to the teacup in her hands for comfort.

“It's not any of my business,” she said. “I don't think poorly of you, Remus.”

“But you must, for I deserve such thoughts,” he said. “I left my boy with his grandmother because I am not able to care for him. Even with the Wolfsbane Potion, my mental state is too changeable and unpredictable to be a reliable parent. Not that I knew anything about babies to begin with. I was so... woefully unprepared. I didn't think I'd be doing this alone.”

“You're _not_ alone,” Hermione said.

He smiled a little and said, “Not entirely, no. I am grateful for you and Harry, the Weasleys, Andromeda...”

He sipped his tea, and Hermione noticed his hand shook a little as he set the cup back down.

“I feel mostly useless. Between Andromeda and her house-elf, the baby is well-cared-for, and I was there slouching about the house with nothing productive to do. I thought I would die in the war, Hermione. I had accepted it. I was at peace. To be alive now, as unemployable as ever, unable to create a home and provide for my son, is cruel. It's bloody cruel!”

Hermione was surprised to hear that Mrs. Tonks had a house-elf, but that was not what she should be thinking about at the moment.

“It's not forever, you know, living here. I'm not going to let him grow up not knowing his father. I'll be there. I will be...”

Remus trailed off, his voice cracking, and he drank from his cup.

“I know,” Hermione said.

After seeming to compose himself again, Remus smiled into his cup.

“Harry tried to convince me to bring Teddy here, but my son is in good, loving, capable hands where he is. I shall visit daily. I can at least do that, and I suppose eventually I'll find a job. Perhaps a Muggle one.”

Hermione tried to think of something to say. Remus was perhaps in a worse position than ever in wizarding society, since as a group the werewolves were so loyal to Voldemort before his defeat. The prejudice against anyone with lycanthropy had only grown more fierce.

“I could help you find a Muggle job, if you want,” Hermione said. “I could teach you how to act like a Muggle.”

Remus seemed overcome by this offer and teared up.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he said.

Hermione refilled their cups and sent the kettle away to clean itself.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Of course.”

“Where are you getting the Wolfsbane Potion you've been taking since end of the war?” she asked.

Remus took a moment to think about his answer, and then asked, “Can you keep it a secret?”

Hermione nodded, and he leaned forward to speak in a low voice.

“Severus Snape is brewing the potion for me. It arrives via owl a few days before I need it, without fail.”

His eyes widened along with Hermione's as she listened.

“What? How did you arrange it? Do you know where he is?” Hermione asked, a few of the questions that popped into her mind spilling from her lips.

“I didn't arrange anything,” said Remus. “He must have been the one supplying it for the werewolves following Voldemort – those that would take it anyway. Which means he was supplying me all along, even while I was undercover.”

Hermione stared at Remus, shocked by his admission.

“The potion is not cheap or easy to make,” said Remus. “I will forever be indebted to Severus. He knows I can't afford to buy it myself and likely will never be able to repay him. I know Harry still holds a grudge against the man for many reasons, one of which is getting me sacked, but... as far as I'm concerned all is forgotten.”

“You know, Harry really doesn't hate him anymore, not after... everything,” Hermione said. “In fact, I think he'd like to talk to Snape about his mother. He's the only person left alive besides you who really knew her.”

“Oh, that would not be a good idea,” said Remus. “Besides, I don't know where he is or how to reach him. I tried sending a thank you note back with an owl and it was returned to me undelivered.”

Hermione wondered if Harry had told Remus much about the memories Snape shared with him. She suspected that Harry had only told herself, Ron, and Ginny a tiny bit of what he knew about Snape's past.

“Remus, did you know that Snape and Harry's mum were friends?” asked Hermione.

He shook his head and said, “I didn't know Lily until that friendship was over, it seems. She was... an usual Gryffindor. She stayed in the background, at least until James started to fancy her. She had a lot of friends in other houses, lots of Ravenclaws. I got the impression, though, that she wasn't really close to anyone. Perhaps because she was one of the very few Muggleborn students at Hogwarts at the time. I remember her saying once how homesick she had been in her first year at school.”

Hermione pondered whether she would have been friends with Lily Evans, commiserating over the experience of being a confused, homesick Muggleborn witch in the magical world for the first time. Yes, she thought, it would have been nice to have that sort of friend.

“Harry and I have had many long conversations about his mother and father, and Sirius,” said Remus. “It is easier now to talk to him about it, now that he's grown up. He idolized his father so much when he was younger and I... well, it has always been hard for me to talk about losing my friends. Now that I've lost so much more, somehow it is easier.”

He stood up and went to wash his cup by hand, seeming to lose himself in thought as he stared at the water pouring from the faucet.

Hermione did not have any more such heart-to-hearts with Remus that summer. He did as he promised and visited his son daily. He also spent many hours searching for Muggle jobs. He refused to use magic to bamboozle any Muggles into hiring him, though Hermione found a number of spells that might have helped. She gave him lessons on Muggle culture, and tried to train his wizard's mannerisms out of him.

Eventually, he was hired as postman. Hermione was confident he would catch on quickly on the job, and Remus was fascinated to learn how the Muggle post worked. Harry wanted to gift Remus enough money to buy a home, but Remus refused to take it.

Harry was also funding the reopening of the joke shop in Diagon Alley at the end of the year. George was developing new joke items during the break from the business he would be taking until then. Harry seemed determined to give as much of his parents' fortune away as possible, and Hermione thought someone should sit him down and go over his finances. She had no idea just how large his family fortune was, but Harry probably had no idea how much money a person would need to raise a family, put children through school, and live a long, comfortable life as a wizard. She did not know who that person would be, but it wasn't going to be her. Perhaps she could convince Harry to hire a financial advisor – if that was a thing in the magical world.

As for her own finances, Hermione realized she would soon need a job. Her final year at Hogwarts would be covered by the money she had been awarded in scholarships by a fund for students who fought in the battle of Hogwarts, but she wanted to put some savings aside and have a little money to spend on books, and some new clothes. She'd thrown out the things she had taken camping with Ron and Harry. Not only because they were now ratty and ill-fitting, but because she could not wear them without remembering all too clearly all she'd experienced in those clothes.

Harry was annoyed when she told him she'd be working at Flourish & Blotts part-time for the rest of the summer holiday.

“Hermione, you don't need to do that,” Harry said. “Truly. What do you need? I'll get it for you.”

Hermione wanted very badly to blurt out that she needed some replacement bras and new knickers, just to see his face turn red from embarrassment, but she resisted.

“Harry, I _want_ to do it,” she said. “I'm excited about working in a bookshop! It's going to be just wonderful. I love the smell of books and parchment.”

Harry made a face and said, “There's not even much time left before term starts. Why did they hire you for such a short time?”

“Well, I suppose to help with the business they'll be getting from all the students going back to school,” she said. “However, I'm not going to be quitting once classes start. I'll work on Saturdays.”

“Are you allowed to do that?” Harry asked.

“Well, typically, no,” Hermione said. “However, McGonagall is making an exception for me. Though she offered to let me work for Madam Pince instead.”

Hermione shuddered and said, “No, thank you!”

“But you love the library at Hogwarts,” Harry said, smirking.

“I do, but I do not love Madam Pince, and she does not love me. Besides, it will be nice to get away from the castle – and we could have lunch together in Diagon Alley sometimes, Harry. I can't go a whole term without seeing you.”


	12. The Bookshop

The first term sped by. For the first time in her life, Hermione grew tired of being a student. After the events of the previous school year, sitting in a classroom felt like going backwards in time. She was faring better than Ron, who despised every minute of classes now that Harry wasn't there with him. He had other friends, of course, and was closer to Ginny than ever, but he seemed to live only for Quidditch. Every spare moment he had was spent either practicing Quidditch, talking about Quidditch, or reading about Quidditch. Both Ron and Ginny planned to tryout for professional teams once they graduated. Both planned on applying for the Auror program as a backup career.

Hermione liked Ginny and considered her a friend, but they did not have much in common. Ginny was easily the most popular girl at Hogwarts, and if that wasn't enough now that everybody in the country knew she was dating Harry Potter their peers flocked to her to talk about Harry. It was rare for Hermione to get a moment alone with Ginny. Usually, the best she could do was a moment alone with both Ginny and Ron.

As a result, she spent far more time with Luna than she ever would have ever expected. Luna was different – more present and serious than before. Hermione knew it was the result of her traumatic experience as a captive at Malfoy Manor, but she rather liked the new Luna.

“Do you like your job at the bookshop, Hermione?” Luna asked one Friday near the end of term. They were in the library, where they spent most of their time together.

“I love it,” Hermione said. “It doesn't pay much, but I do love it. I get to talk about books all day.”

“It sounds nice,” said Luna. “I'd like to write books one day.”

“On what subject?” Hermione asked. “Charms?”

It was Luna's favorite class.

“Oh, no. I mean stories. Fiction, you know?” Luna said.

“Oh,” said Hermione. “Wow. I've always been surprised by how few novelists there are in the wizarding world. There's children's stories and retellings of myths, which are often based on real magic, but almost no other fiction. I've been reading Muggle fiction my whole life.”

Luna nodded and said, “I _love_ Muggle books! Especially the stories that have to do with magic – it's so funny, the things they get wrong.”

That Saturday after she finished her shift at Flourish & Blotts, Hermione left Diagon Alley and made her way to a Muggle bookshop not too far away in Muggle London. It took her a moment of staring at the storefront to go inside – the last time she'd been to this shop was with her parents.

Inside, Hermione perused the bookshelves until minutes before the store closed. She found something she thought Luna would enjoy, as well a book for Remus. For Ginny and Ron, she'd bought Quidditch biographies from Flourish & Blotts. Only Harry's Christmas gift was left to sort out.

The bell on the door rang as Hermione was paying for her purchases, glad she still had enough Muggle cash left in her emergency funds. She would have to exchange more soon.

“We close in ten minutes, sir,” said the man at the counter, as he slid Hermione's purchases toward her and handed her a receipt.

Hermione turned around and saw a familiar face disappear into the bookshelves. She shook her head slightly. No, it couldn't be... but she had to know for sure. She followed the man clothed entirely in black around the shelf corner and stopped short, staring at his retreating back. This man was wearing Muggle clothes. Surely it was not him.

But that hair and manner of walking were unmistakable. Hermione ducked around another shelf, and met him as he came up the opposite end of the narrow aisle. They stood staring at one another, Hermione's expression one of disbelief, his flat and unmoving.

“Professor Sn-” she began, but he cut her off.

“Don't.”

He stepped forward, close enough to speak to her in a low voice.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?” he asked.

“I – ah – ”

Hermione couldn't seem to find the words to explain the situation.

“Never mind. Can you keep this to yourself, or do I need to Obliviate you?” he asked.

“Miss? Is everything all right?” came the voice of the man from the counter. “We're closing in five, folks.”

Snape raised an eyebrow at Hermione, and his hand moved toward his coat pocket.

“I won't tell anyone,” she whispered. “But, what are _you_ doing here?”

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, rather loudly, and swept past her.

Hermione left the shop and did not dare wait for him to exit as well. She hurried away and found a spot from which to Apparate back to Hogsmeade, where she was to check in with Aberforth before returning to the castle.

“A bit late today, aren't you?” Aberforth commented.

“Just had a lot to do,” Hermione said. “If I don't see you again before the holidays, Happy Christmas!”

He grunted and waved her away. “On your way.”

Hermione wrapped the gifts when she returned to the castle, pleased with herself. Ron and Ginny were playing Quidditch, despite the cold. Hermione curled up with her own book in the common room, and the fire was so cozy that she ended up falling asleep. She woke up to Ron shaking her shoulder.

“Hermione!”

“Wha- ? Ron? What's wrong?” she asked, frowning.

Ron dropped his hand from her shoulder.

“You tell me, Hermione, you were talking all creepy-like in your sleep,” he said.

“I was?”

“Yeah,” Ron said looking at Ginny, who was holding a broomstick and nodding. “You were saying, 'no, no, no,' over and over.”

“I was?” Hermione said, frowning. She could feel the panic of the dream in her chest, but could not remember it at all.

“It seemed like you were having a nightmare,” Ginny said.

“I guess I was,” Hermione said.

Ron and Ginny gave her worried looks.

“I'm fine, you two,” she said, sitting up and closing her book, which had been lying facedown on her chest.

“All right. Well, I'm gonna go shower,” Ron said.

Ginny sat down beside Hermione and rubbed her own arm, where a fresh bruise was forming.

“You should get some salve for that from Madam Pomfrey,” said Hermione.

“Eh, it's not that bad,” Ginny said, shrugging.

She glanced at Hermione's book.

“What are you reading?” she asked curiously. “That doesn't look like it's from our library.”

“Oh, ah...” Hermione flipped the cover over. “It's a Muggle book.”

“What kind of Muggle book?” Ginny asked. “Let me see the picture on the front again.”

Reluctantly, Hermione showed Ginny the book. The cover art featured a woman riding a horse while brandishing a sword, toward the silhouette of man in front of a stormy sky.

“ _The Witch and the Watchman,”_ said Ginny, reading the title. “What's a watchman?”

“It's a Muggle story,” said Hermione. “The main character is a witch, and the watchman is a Muggle. They don't call him a Muggle, of course.”

“Is he a villain?” asked Ginny.

“Sort of,” said Hermione. “He's not as bad as everyone thinks. I haven't finished it yet, but it seems like he's falling in love with the witch, who he is supposed to kill.”

“Oh, I don't think I'd like that story,” said Ginny, wrinkling her nose. “Muggles love to write books about killing witches, don't they?”

Hermione laughed and said, “Not so much anymore. Most of their books about magic have witch or wizard protagonists now.”

Ginny did not look as if she believed Hermione. Perhaps she just didn't know what protagonist meant. Hermione tucked the book under she arm and yawned.

“I'm going to the library,” she said. “I can't believe exams start tomorrow.”

“Ugh, don't remind me,” Ginny said. “I can't wait to be home for Christmas. Are you going to stay over Christmas Eve at the Burrow? Harry is.”

“Oh, ah... I'll come to the Burrow of course, but I'll probably go back to Grimmauld Place that night,” said Hermione.

“You'll come back Christmas morning, though, won't you?” asked Ginny. “You can't miss Mum's breakfast!”

“I won't,” Hermione said. “I'll be there.”

Hermione's exams went well. In fact, she'd never felt more confident and relaxed about the end of a term. Instead of riding the Hogwarts Express home with the rest of the students, Hermione Apparated home and worked a shift at Flourish & Blotts.

When she returned home to Grimmauld Place, Harry was waiting to give her a bear hug. Remus was in the kitchen with Teddy, who was babbling while messily eating what appeared to be mushy peas with his hands.

“Oh, he's so big now,” Hermione remarked. “Hello, Teddy!”

Teddy grinned at her, one tiny crooked tooth poking through his gums, and suddenly shrieked. Hermione involuntarily jumped and Remus smiled apologetically.

“Welcome home, Hermione,” he said.

Hermione thought Remus looked much healthier and happier than he had when she left the house in the fall. He wiped Teddy's face and hands.

“We're just finishing dinner, and then going back to grandmother's house,” he said.

Remus carried Teddy to the sitting room and put him on the floor. Teddy promptly crawled over to the sofa and pulled himself up to stand and bounce happily as he looked at Harry.

“He loves Harry,” Remus said.

As Hermione watched, Teddy's hair went from very pale to dark black wispy baby curls.

“Did he just - ?” she asked, pointing at Teddy's head.

Harry grinned and nodded.

“Yeah. He's a Metamorphmagus,” Harry said. “He likes to copy me. Sometimes his eyes turn green.”

Teddy giggled as Harry smiled at him and patted his head.

“You want to be just like Uncle Harry, don't you?” Harry asked.

“That's amazing,” Hermione said, sitting down in the chair across from Harry. “I didn't know babies could do that – I thought it had to be conscious.”

“His doesn't last very long,” Harry said, and sure enough, when Hermione looked again Teddy's hair was back to normal.

“Fascinating,” Hermione said.

The holidays were warm, cozy, and full of cheer at the Burrow. Remus brought Teddy, who was the apple of Molly's eye. She cooed and coddled the baby all evening. Hermione and Ron spent the evening being forced to sit awkwardly together by various family and friends, who still seemed to believe they would end up dating. At the end of the night, when Arthur Weaseley had dozed off in his chair by the fire, and Molly was helping Remus gather up a sleeping Teddy from one of the upstairs rooms, and Harry and Ginny were presumably in her room, and George was outside after saying he needed a moment alone, Hermione found herself with Ron and nobody else in the kitchen.

“Well, I'm going back to Grimmauld Place,” she said and stifled a yawn. “Happy Christmas, Ron.”

“Yeah, you too,” he said. “Happy Christmas.”

He picked up a ginger biscuit from a plate in the middle of the kitchen table and ate it in one bite. He then looked up at her sullenly.

“Sorry about my family. They just really like you, Hermione. You know, they really want us to be together,” he said.

“I know, Ron.”

She felt something that might have been regret, looking at Ron's face. Time to go, she thought.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” she said.

“Oh, are you coming tomorrow?”

“Of course. I wouldn't miss it. Your mum would be so disappointed,” Hermione said.

Ron ate another biscuit and sighed. He placed his palms on the edge of the table and looked down at the trays of sweets before him.

“Bye, Hermione,” he said.

She left with Remus and Teddy. Harry would certainly be staying the night at the Burrow with Ginny. In the morning, Remus would take Teddy home to Andromeda to celebrate on Christmas morning. Hermione made some calming tea and sat in the kitchen while Remus tried to put Teddy to bed without waking him again. Minutes later, he appeared in the kitchen.

“He's still asleep, thank Merlin,” Remus said. “This evening completely wore him out.”

“I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did,” Hermione said. “I think I was ready to go before Teddy.”

Remus made himself a cup of tea and sat down with her.

“Hermione, I was wondering tonight while we were celebrating with the Weasley's, why you haven't been home to see your own family for the holidays,” said Remus. “Harry told me your parents are Muggles and that you're an only child.”   
  
“Harry didn't tell you what happened?” Hermione asked in surprise.

Remus slowly shook his head.

“I haven't been to visit my parents because I – because I removed their memories of me,” Hermione said. “Before I came to the Weasley's, before Bill and Fleur's wedding, and before the hunt for the horcruxes. I was afraid the Death Eaters would find them and torture them for information about me. Kill them.”

Remus appeared to be disturbed by her admission, but he quickly hid the emotion.

“I see,” he said. “And you do not believe the memories can be restored?”

“I don't know,” Hermione said. “I've been researching. Learning all I can about Mind Magic. Maybe one day, I'll be able to... get them back.”

She took a moment to regain a hold on the emotion that threatened to choke her voice.

“I sent them to Australia,” she said. “So I wouldn't be tempted to visit, and so they'd be as far away from the Death Eaters as possible.”

“I see,” Remus said again. “I am very sorry that you had to do that Hermione.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“Have you considered asking for help from someone with more experience in Mind Magic?” Remus asked, once his cup was empty.

“I don't know who that would be,” Hermione said. “Besides, I haven't wanted to advertise the fact that I used illegal magic on Muggles, you know.”

Remus opened his mouth for a second, then pursed his lips, hesitant to say something.

“Surely, there is one person we can both think of straight away who might be able to help, and who would not be inclined to report you to the authorities,” he finally said.

Hermione did not want to put the thoughts into words. She had been avoiding doing so since that day in the bookshop. Instead of speaking she nodded.

“Severus,” Remus said. “He might be able to help you. Good luck finding him, though. I doubt he'll ever come out of hiding, even if Harry is successful in getting him pardoned for Dumbledore's death.”

Perhaps because she was so very tired of feeling alone, even among her friends, Hermione told him.

“Maybe it wouldn't be so difficult,” she said.

“What makes you say that?” asked Remus.

“Well. I saw Snape just this month,” she revealed.

“You _did_? Where?”

“You can't tell anyone else,” Hermione said. “Not even Harry. Especially Harry.”

“Of course not,” Remus said.

“I saw him in a Muggle bookshop in London,” Hermione said. “He was not happy to see me.”

“I imagine not.”

Remus' eyes moved without focusing on the table in front of him, as if he was replaying a memory in his mind.

“Why would he be in London, even Muggle London?” Hermione wondered aloud. “I'm not the only person who has Muggle relatives that knows what Snape looks like – and his photo has been in the papers.”

“Are you sure it was him?”

“It had to be,” said Hermione. “Why would anyone impersonate him in a Muggle bookshop?”

“I don't know,” said Remus.


	13. Remembering

Harry and Hermione returned from Christmas morning at the Weasley's together, and exchanged gifts by the fire at Grimmauld Place. Ginny and Ron would come over later for dinner, after they visited their many relatives. Harry gave Hermione a gorgeous new golden quill and a heavy, leather-bound journal. Hermione hugged him and watched as he opened her gift.

“Oh, wow. Thanks, Hermione,” he said. “You made this, didn't you?”

Hermione nodded. She had been practicing her knitting charms and had managed to produce a jumper in Gryffindor colors for Harry, featuring an intricate Hogwarts seal on the front.

“I love it,” Harry said. “I just can't let Mrs. Weasley see it. I can't believe you made this yourself!”

Harry pulled the jumper over his head and stood up, looking down and smoothing his hands over the design.

“It fits,” he said. “It's perfect!”

“I stole one of your jumpers to go by for the pattern,” Hermione admitted.

“How did you have time to do this? Amazing!” Harry said.

He looked at her and seemed to realize something. He sat down again.

“Is it awful being at Hogwarts this year?” he asked.

“No, not awful, Harry,” she said. “It's just different. I told you before, Luna's been a great study partner.”

“Ron said it's been awful. Well, except for Quidditch.”

Hermione had been thinking less about Quidditch than ever, now that Harry wasn't in near-constant peril before, during, or after the games.

“Yeah. He's never gotten over the fact that you went into the Auror program without him this year,” Hermione said.

“I do wish I had Ron with me,” Harry said. “But I dunno, Hermione... it's really tough. The training. The defensive spells. I've never worked so hard. All while preparing for the N.E.W.T.s. I'm hiring a tutor, I don't think I told you.”

“Oh? That's probably a good idea,” said Hermione.

“It was Mr. Weasley's idea. After the holidays one of Bill's old classmates is going to tutor me. She was one of the top of her class, in Ravenclaw.”

“Who is it?” Hermione asked.

“Her name is Cecelia Crump. I haven't met her yet,” said Harry. “I tried to hire Remus but he refused. He said he likes his Muggle job and doesn't have time to do both.”

“I think Remus might wish he could have been an Auror, Harry,” said Hermione. “It must hurt, knowing he'd never be accepted in the program because of his lycanthropy.”

“I didn't think of that,” said Harry.

Ron and Ginny arrived in time for dinner, which was light since everyone had been overeating for the past two days. Ron and Ginny brought a gift for Harry.

“This was your real gift, Harry, we just didn't want mum to see it,” said Ron.

He handed Harry a large bottle of firewhiskey with a grin. Harry thanked him, and soon they were all holding shots of the wizarding world's favorite liquor. Hermione downed hers with less enthusiasm than the rest of them, who were grinning as they smacked their glasses down on the kitchen counter.

Hermione only made it through a couple more rounds before she left her friends guffawing at the kitchen table and went upstairs to flop into bed. She fell asleep immediately, despite still being able to hear Harry, Ron, and Ginny joke and laugh downstairs.

The next morning, Hermione woke to the sound of snoring. Ron was lying on his back across the foot of her bed, his legs hanging off the edge.

“Ron?!”

He only snored a bit louder.

“Ron!” Hermione said, sitting up and nudging him with her foot.

He continued to sleep, and only stopped snoring long enough to groan in annoyance. Hermione got out of bed, grabbed some fresh clothes, and went to take a bath. Soaking in a magically-stable warm bath with a book was one of Hermione's favorite ways to relax.

Only she couldn't relax. She couldn't even focus on her book, despite the fact that she was near the end and desperately wanted to know what happened. Hermione put the book aside and slouched down in the bath until her chin touched the water. Her mind drifted back to the surprise of waking up to see Ron in her bed, and then farther back to other memories of Ron – in bed at the Burrow. Every now and then she really missed Ron.

As she gave in and reached down to press her fingers against delicate flesh, and began to relieve the growing ache in her body, all thoughts of Ron left her mind. She focused only on the release she desperately needed, and was reward with an blinding, intense visualization in her mind as she reached it, of white light and pulsing shocks of color that moved to quickly to name. It would seem practicing Mind Magic meditations had benefits beyond making Occlumency easier.

Without thinking, Hermione sighed and sank down completely beneath the water. She hadn't planned to wash her hair, and she spent an inordinate amount of time taming it after she got out of the bath. When she finally emerged, dressed and hungry, she discovered Ron was still asleep on her bed, although he was now lying diagonally across the entire mattress. Hermione went downstairs and made herself breakfast.

After a while, Harry and Ginny wandered down to the kitchen, hiding grins unsuccessfully.

“'Morning, Hermione,” said Harry, wrapping an arm around Ginny and kissing her temple.

Ginny kissed his cheek in return and went to make some toast.

“Is Ron still asleep?” Ginny asked.

When nobody answered, she looked at Hermione expectantly.

“I guess so,” Hermione said.

She pretended that she did not notice the look shared between Ginny and Harry. Ron appeared a few minutes later, looking rather sheepish, Hermione thought, in addition to being hungover. He went to sit on the sofa with his tea, and avoided making conversation. Once Ron and Ginny left, Harry did not waste much time asking Hermione the question that must have been on his mind all morning.

“So, I noticed Ron wasn't in the guest room this morning,” he said.

Hermione did not look up from her book.

“No. Apparently his drunken self decided it would be better to sleep at the end of my bed,” she said.

Harry chuckled.

“I did not find it so amusing,” she said. “Next time, perhaps you should make sure he gets to the right bedroom.”

“I will,” Harry said, still laughing. “Merlin, the two of you were so awkward this morning.”

Hermione shook her head, but couldn't help smiling a little. Remus returned to the house, this time without Teddy, and the rest of the break was much like the weeks before term started. Hermione read and worked her shifts at Flourish & Blotts. Remus did the same, and Harry spent all of his free time with Ginny, bemoaning the fact that she would soon return to Hogwarts.

“Are you going to be all right while we're gone?” Hermione asked one evening, when Harry seemed particularly depressed.

“I'll be fine,” he said. “McGonagall keeps writing to remind me I can visit Hogwarts whenever I want, but I don't want to deal with the way the other students are going to act if I show up. Maybe I'll come for Hogsmeade visits. If I have time.”

“Harry, come to Hogsmeade. You've been working really hard. You deserve breaks,” said Hermione.

“Perhaps, but there's something I haven't told you yet, Hermione. I'm working with Remus and McGonagall to get Snape pardoned – we've hired legal counsel. We're putting together a case.”

“Wow, Harry... that's great,” Hermione said. “Ah... why didn't you tell me sooner? I'd love to help.”

“Well, because you're still a student and McGonagall didn't want to this to affect your studies, or your performance on the N.E.W.T.s. I told her you'd want to help,” said Harry.

“Right. It's not as if I managed to keep up my grades and pass my O.W.L.s while helping you figure out how Voldemort was trying to murder you each year. I can't believe McGonagall doesn't want my help,” she said, truly hurt by the thought.

“Well, I want your help, Hermione,” said Harry. “Which is why I'm telling you. It was you he rescued from Voldemort, and you were the one who saw Snape kill him. We're going to need you. It's going to be a while, though. Right now we're mostly just paying for someone else to put it all together into a legal case.”

Hermione nodded and said, “Okay.”

It was frustrating to be older than Harry but still at Hogwarts, while he was out in the wizarding world doing important things. Hermione began to feel a little of the annoyance over the situation that Ron felt. Harry was surely the one financing the case for Snape's pardon.

That night, Hermione pulled out the journal Harry gave her for Christmas and stared at the blank page, holding a quill. She should write down her account of Snape's loyalty to Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. After all, she was the first person to know the truth after Dumbledore's death.

Hermione's quill scratched across the page, as she wrote:

_When myself, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley were captured by Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor, I was separated from the boys and tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange with the Cruciatus Curse, among other things. The boys managed to escape with the help of Dobby, a free house-elf. Unfortunately, Lestrange killed Dobby before he could get me out of Malfoy Manor, and she took me to Voldemort._

_I still do not know the location where I was held, but I was put into a small cell in a basement._

Hermione stopped writing. It was so hard to remember the rest, especially with certain parts of her memory still removed, held captive in the small vial she still kept in her beaded bag.

_I was chained with magical restraints. A Death Eater called Dunn came in and removed my clothing. I was left like that for a long time. Then, Dunn came back with Severus Snape. Snape told him to leave._

Hermione could not write anything else. Her hands were shaking. She left the page open and paced around her bedroom. Her mind felt like it was caught in an almost-sneeze. The emotions connected to the memory were turned off, but she could recall their existence and knew they were supposed to be there... she just couldn't feel them.

_Once Dunn was gone, Snape cleaned my wounds. Then he_

Hermione stopped writing again. She closed the journal. After a few minutes of staring at the cover, she went to her nightstand and pulled out her beaded bag.

“ _Accio memories!”_ she said, holding her want over the opening.   
  
The vial flew up out of the bag and she caught it. Hermione stared at the swirling memories, most of which were of Ron. Perhaps it was time.

She dipped her wand into the vial and pulled out a memory. Hermione had figured out how to put memories back months ago, but never had the courage to try it until now. It was more difficult, and it would be painful. There was a reason the Pensieve had been invented, after all.

Hermione returned the memories all at once, which might not have been the best idea. As soon as they entered her mind, she was overcome emotion. Desire, happiness, and resignation over Ron, and then an oppressive wave of confusion as she felt the full force of her fear, anger, pain, horror, disbelief, and helplessness over what happened in that cell.

She cried for what must have been an hour, curled up on her bed. Full, body-shaking sobs, crying like she had not cried since she was a child. It was pain over the loss of Ron, even though it had been her decision and she knew it was the right one. That didn't make it hurt less. It was the anger she wanted to feel without reservation toward Snape, but could not. There was no way to reconcile it. She both hated and did not hate him.

Hermione's head ached as she got up and crept into the bathroom to clean herself up. She didn't want to wake Harry or run into Remus, who was usually up late. She washed her face and blew her nose as quietly as possible, then stared at her reflection in the mirror. A minute later, she walked back into her bedroom, picked up her wand, and removed the memory of Snape. It sat sluggishly in the bottom of the vial by itself. For now, she left the memories of Ron.

She fell back onto her bed and was asleep in moments. When she woke up the next morning, Hermione returned to her journal to finish where she had left off.

_Then he freed me from the restraints and left. I was taken from the cell by a house-elf back to Hogwarts, where Snape explained that Dumbledore had planned his death to appear as if Snape murdered him, so that he could remain close to Voldemort and ultimately take him down with Harry's help. He asked me to convince Harry to meet with him._

Hermione shuddered and closed the journal. She remembered clearly how Snape had told her that if she brought charges against him in court he would not deny it. Part of her wanted to open the journal back up and write down the whole truth. Perhaps she would one day. After all, she wasn't going to show those words to anyone else.


	14. Neville

Back at Hogwarts, Hermione reunited with Luna, who had already finished reading the Muggle book Hermione gifted her, and settled in for her final term as a Hogwarts student. All the seventh year students returned with feelings of dread and anticipation as they hurtled toward their N.E.W.T.s and the day they would complete their magical education. For Hermione, at least, that day arrived unexpectedly fast, after many evenings in the library with Luna. It seemed that she blinked and the N.E.W.T.s were over. They celebrated with Harry at the Hog's Head.

“Luna, what are you going to do after Hogwarts?” asked Harry.

“I'm not entirely certain yet,” Luna said airily.

Hermione knew that Luna was already writing her first book. She didn't like to talk about it, though.

“Harry, I read in the paper that you are going to try to get Professor Snape pardoned,” Luna said. “Is that true?”

“Yeah, it is,” Harry said.

“Do you think he'll come out of hiding if you're successful?” Luna asked.

“I dunno. That's not why I'm doing it, you know. It's just the right thing to do,” Harry said. “We couldn't have defeated Voldemort without him.”

Ron did not seem to appreciate the turn of the conversation. He changed the subject.

“I can't wait to try out for the Quidditch league,” he said. “I've got a real good feeling about it.”

Hermione had quit her job at Flourish & Blotts a couple of weeks before the N.E.W.T.s, and even though she was assured she could come back that summer, she would not be returning. Instead, she was going to help George Weasley run the joke shop, since his shop manager had just moved to France. George had first offered the job to Ron, then Ginny. They both turned him down.

Though Hermione thought her time at the joke shop would be short-lived, she wasn't ready to commit to anything else. What would she pursue in her magical career? The possibilities were endless and overwhelming. It was easy for her friends. They'd always had more narrow passions. Hermione loved every subject almost equally and frankly wished she had multiple lifetimes in which to pursue them all.

She had to start somewhere, but the questioned remained, where?

McGonagall thought she should go into Healing. Slughorn was sure she would do well in Potions research. Hagrid thought she should work for the Ministry in some legal capacity. Hermione wanted something she could not identify. For now, she was excited to help George run his business. He was a great inventor and seemingly boundlessly creative, but the minutia of everyday operations were not his strong suit.

“I have to go, now,” Luna said, without further explanation. She left the rest of them drinking their butterbeers at a table in the back corner of the bar.

“Harry, hurry up and finish your drink,” said Ginny. “There's something I want to show you.”

A few minutes later, Ginny led Harry out of the Hog's Head, saying, “We'll be right back, you two.”

Ron and Hermione were left alone at the table. Ron's mug was empty. Hermione was still nursing hers.

“Are you feeling better, now that the N.E.W.T.s are over?” he asked.

“I suppose,” said Hermione. “It's a strange feeling, knowing we'll leave Hogwarts forever soon.”

“Yeah. I'm ready to go,” said Ron. “This year was the worst.”

Hermione wondered if he meant because she had stopped giving him answers and helping him write his essays. Ron had worked harder than any other year, Hermione imagined.

“George told me you agreed to work for him,” said Ron.

“I did.”

“I suppose you'll still be living with Harry?” he asked.

“For now, yes,” said Hermione. She hoped to get her own flat eventually.

“I'll be seeing you around, then,” Ron said. “That's good. I'd hate it if we weren't friends.”

“I'd hate that too,” Hermione said.

“Hermione...” Ron hesitantly reached out and touched her hand over the table.

“Ron, don't,” she said, pulling her hand away.

The memories she'd returned were threatening to bring tears to her eyes. It might have been a mistake to put them back into her head.

“I haven't been with anyone else, you know, since we...” he trailed off and stared at his hand, lying alone on the table top.

“Me neither,” Hermione said. “But, Ron, you need to move on. I want you to move on. Ask someone out. I promise, it won't change the fact that we're friends. I won't be jealous.”

“Well, that's just...” Ron sighed. “Great.”

“Ron, what did you think? That we'd get married and have kids one day? It was never going to last. Besides our friendship with Harry, we have so little in common. We'd fight constantly, can't you see?” she said.

“I'm not asking you to marry me,” Ron said stubbornly.

_Not yet, but you would,_ Hermione thought. She sighed and finished her butterbeer.

“I don't think Harry and Ginny are going to be back anytime soon,” she said.

Ron shook his head and said, “Probably not.”

Hermione asked Aberforth to serve them a round of firewhiskey, much to Ron's surprise.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said. “Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

Hermione said, “It's just a drink between friends, Ron.”

She clinked her glass against his, and saw that Ron was trying to hide a smile. Ginny and Harry returned after they finished their drinks. Ginny's face was flushed and Harry's hair messier than usual.

“Hermione,” Harry said, sliding back into his seat.

“Yes, Harry?”

“How would feel about having another housemate?” he asked, breaking into a grin.

Hermione looked at Ginny, who was also grinning.

“You mean Ginny?” Hermione grinned back. “I figured she'd be coming to Grimmauld Place. All she talks about is how much she loves London.”

Ginny moved in right after the end of term. Harry threw a house party at Grimmauld Place, and most of Hogwart's graduating class were in attendance. Hermione was exhausted halfway through the evening and ended up sitting on the front stoop by herself, lost in silent meditation.

Within weeks, life at Grimmauld Place settled into a new routine with the addition of Ginny, who had been recruited by the _Holyhead Harpies_. The excitement over her success was tempered by the news that Ron would not be playing for any team – he'd been passed over. Ron did not visit the house for a few weeks afterward. Remus brought Teddy over on the weekends, and Ginny was enamored with him. Hermione thought Remus must enjoy having someone around to entertain Teddy so effectively.

Hermione began her new job at the joke shop, and found that she got along with George far better than she expected. He was still prone to frequent wisecracks, but his humor was darker than before.

George lived above the shop, but it was not long before Hermione realized he rarely spent his nights alone. After a few weeks, George made no attempt to hide the witches that left his flat in the mornings, usually shortly after Hermione arrived for the day. On one such morning, Hermione looked up and saw through the window of her office, a tall blonde witch kiss George before she sauntered down the stairs outside that led from the flat's door to the street. When George appeared a few minutes later, Hermione cleared her throat.

“Have you seen Angelina Johnson lately?” she asked.

Caught off-guard, George stopped walking.

“Why would I have seen Angelina?” he asked.

“Well, because she and Ginny are both training with the _Holyhead Harpies_ now,” Hermione said.

“I heard,” he said. George leaned against the doorframe of Hermione's office. “But, no. I haven't seen her lately. Fred fancied her back in school, you know.”

A brief expression of sadness crossed his face, but then he smiled fondly and said, “She wasn't keen.”

“She asked about you,” Hermione said. “Ginny didn't tell you?”

George shook his head a little and then removed himself from the doorjamb abruptly.

“Well it's time to open shop,” he said brightly, and disappeared.

Hermione heard him whistling a lilting melody in a minor key down below on the store floor. He suddenly stopped, and the bell over the door jingled. Hermione turned her attention back to the inventory list in front of her.

“Her-mione!” George sang her name loudly from the shop floor. Hermione looked up.

“Yes?” she called back.

“There's someone here to see you!” George sang. He then said in a normal voice, “Shall I send him up?”

“Ah... yes,” she said.

Moments later, Neville Longbottom appeared in the doorway.

“Neville?”

“Hello, Hermione,” he said.

Neville was even taller than the last time Hermione had seen him, which was in the weeks after the battle at Hogwarts. His hair had grown out a little and fell across his forehead in a way that flattered his face, which was thinner and bonier than ever. What looked like a few days' worth of thick stubble covered his jawline. He was dressed in a nicely fitted robe over a white collared shirt.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were still traveling through South America?”

“The research project was cut short,” he said. “The lead Herbologist got bitten by a monkey and nearly died.”

“Oh... I'm sorry to hear that,” said Hermione. “That's awful!”

“Yeah. He's all right now, though,” said Neville. “My gran and I went to Spain for a holiday. I just got back.”

“Well, you look great – you've gotten a tan, Neville,” Hermione said. His normally pale complexion had a little more warmth to it now.

“So do you. Look great, I mean,” Neville said, blushing as he stumbled over the words.

“What brings you to Diagon Alley?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, I'm picking up a few things for my gran. I saw Ron yesterday, and he said you were working here with George.”

Neville looked around and then said, “I'm glad this place is still here. Anyway, I just thought I'd, ah, pop in and say hello. I missed you – er – all of you guys. How was Hogwarts last year?”

“It was fine. Nothing dangerous or exciting happened all year,” Hermione said.

“I imagine that was nice. I sort of wish I'd gotten a non-exciting year at Hogwarts,” Neville said.

Hermione laughed a little and nodded.

“So, ah... are you applying for any apprenticeships or research projects?” Neville asked.

“I haven't,” Hermione said. “I'm still trying to decide which field I want to pursue.”

Neville seemed surprised.

“I figured McGonagall would have offered you something at the school,” he said. “Seeing as how she's Headmistress and you're the best student Gryffindor has ever had.”

It was Hermione's turn to blush.

“Oh, I don't know about that, but thanks, I'm flattered,” she said. “McGonagall did offer to be my advisor, if I wanted to complete a year of academic research at the school after graduating. I just needed to get away from Hogwarts for a while... you know?”

Neville nodded.

“I might ask Professor Sprout if she'll advise me on a project of my own,” he said. “And if – if McGonagall will have me I'd love to complete a research year at Hogwarts.”

“I'm sure she'd love to have you, Neville,” said Hermione.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment.

“Well... it was really nice to see you,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, you too. I'm glad I came by,” said Neville, suddenly looking very uncomfortable. “Ah... I'll see you around, then?”

He hesitated, then reached out to offer Hermione a brief hug, patting her on the back lightly.

“Bye, Hermione,” he said.

“Goodbye, Neville.”

Hermione walked out of the office with him and waved as he descended the stairs, said goodbye to George, and left. As soon as the door shut behind him, George look up at Hermione with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Well, now, that was a surprise, wasn't it?” he asked, grinning.

“It was,” Hermione said. “I had no idea Neville was in London.”

She went down to join George at the store counter, which he was currently leaning over.

“Was that Neville _Longbottom_?” George asked with exaggerated skepticism. “No. Couldn't possibly be him. Neville?”

Hermione laughed and said, “Stop, George!”

“I don't know if you noticed, Hermione, but that bloke was very attractive. That is one word nobody associates with Neville Longbottom,” George said. “Can't possibly be him.”

“George! I'm going back to my office,” she said. “Let me know if you need help out here.”

“Wait – did he ask you out?” George asked. “You better have said yes.”

“What? No, he didn't, and I wouldn't,” Hermione said.

“Why not?” George asked. “Don't tell me you're still hung up on Ron. I thought you were the one that dumped him.”

So Ron had at least talked to George about it.

“It's not about Ron,” Hermione said. “You know, it's just... it's Neville.”

“Is it really him, though?” George mused again.

“Yes, of course it is, and no matter how...” Hermione trailed off at George's raised brow.

“No matter how he _looks,_ he was the kid I had to stop from blowing up the Potions lab no less than five times a year. I can't think of him in... any other way.”

George chuckled and said, “Well, if it really is him, maybe you should give him a chance.”

Hermione went back to her office and sat wondering if George was right. Of course, George seemed willing to give any witch a chance... or maybe not, since none of them ever stuck around.


	15. Keeping Secrets

Hermione left the shop that evening still pondering whether George might have a point about Neville. She could not convince herself to see anything but the sweet, cherub-faced boy who was so terrified of Snape he dissolved into stuttered nonsense and squeaks in his presence. The older, handsome Neville she'd met that day was the same gentle, sweet bumbling boy beneath the facial hair, and Hermione could not imagine herself becoming attracted to him. Which was mad, because he was objectively _very_ attractive.

“What is wrong with me?” Hermione whispered, meandering through Diagon Alley. She should simply Apparate home, but sometimes it was nice to walk. The weather was fine, and the sky mostly clear. A light breeze was in the air.

She stopped by Flourish & Blotts and peering in the window of the shop, which had just closed. She needed new reading material, but perhaps she'd go to the Muggle bookshop again. Hermione was so focused on the new display of Charms history books at the front of the shop, that she did not notice the telltale shimmer of a Disillusionment Charm in her peripheral vision.

When an invisible hand clapped itself over her mouth, at the same time as an arm snaked its way through her own, she didn't have time to scream. She was forcibly Disapparated from the spot where she stood in front of the alley, peeking in the shop window.

“Mmmfp!”

Hermione's muffled protest accompanied the pop of Apparition as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. Her body struggled against the grip of her kidnapper, who suddenly let go of her. Hermione spun away blindly, her eyes unadjusted to the darkness of the room.

“Please don't scream, Granger,” he said.

“S – Snape?”

Wand-light blinded her just as she was beginning to make out his shadowy shape in the dark. She screwed up her face in pain, and squinted at him as his pale features appeared in front of her.

“I apologize for abducting you,” he said. “If you weren't always in the company of either a Weasley or Potter himself, it wouldn't have been necessary.”

“I'm sure you could have thought of another way,” Hermione said, heart racing to the point she felt briefly lightheaded. “I thought I was about to be murdered! Bloody hell!”

He lowered the lit tip of his wand a little so that it was not shining directly in her eyes. The shadows on his face deepened.

“Are we in a cave?” she asked, hearing a faint drip in the distance.

“Where we are is not important,” he said.

It was cold, wherever they were. She waited for Snape to speak, but he seemed to have gone mute. Hermione had reflexively pulled out her wand when he let go of her, and she still stood holding it between them. He looked at it.

“You still use that wand?” he asked.

It was the old, worn wand he'd given her to replace hers. Hermione meant to get a new one, but wands were expensive and this one worked well for her despite its age. She glanced down at it and then tucked it back into her pocket.

“Yes. Do you... want it back?” she asked.

“Keep it,” he said, after a moment.

“So? Why have you abducted me?” she asked.

“I want you to tell Potter to drop his case for my pardon,” Snape said. “That is all.”

“That's all? You didn't have to kidnap me to tell me that,” Hermione said. “You could have sent a note to Remus with his next dose of Wolfsbane.”

If he was surprised she knew about the Wolfsbane, he didn't show it.

“What makes you think I haven't?” he asked. “Remus did not seem to get the message.”

Hermione stared at him. His face was a bit fuller than she remembered, in a good way. He no longer appeared to be suffering from a terminal illness.

“I'm sure its because he wants to repay you for helping him. Why don't you want to be pardoned? Aren't you tired of hiding?” Hermione asked.

The wand light lowered to his side, and went out. Seconds later, he lit a fire on the ground beside them – the same dancing blue flames Hermione had taught herself to conjure up years ago. They were indeed in a cave. Snape sat down on a large rock, which was part of a caved-in wall behind him.

“It's not the pardon I object to,” he said. “It's Potter's involvement.”

Hermione stared at him in disbelief.

“Are you serious? You still hate Harry that much?” she asked.

“In order to convince Potter to trust me I showed him memories that I do not want shared with the court, much less the entire wizarding world.”

Hermione continued to hug herself as she found a rock of her own to sit on.

“It can't be worse than living in a cave,” she said reasonably.

She was surprised to hear him laugh – a short, deep sort of scoffing sound.

“I don't live in this cave,” he said.

“Why were you in that Muggle bookshop? Were you following me then?” Hermione asked suspiciously.

“No.”

“So, you were just... looking for something to read? In a Muggle shop?” she asked.

“Have you managed to forget that you are speaking to the 'Half-blood Prince'? Or did Potter keep that information to himself? I grew up among Muggles,” he said, amused.

“You... read Muggle books,” Hermione said, still surprised.

“Indeed. The first books I ever read were Muggle books,” he said.

Hermione stared, then realized she had allowed herself to be distracted from her main argument.

“I can't tell Harry to drop the case,” she said. “We've all been working so hard to get you pardoned. Harry's spent a lot of money for your defense.”

“I did not ask him to!” Snape said. “I did not ask this of any of you!”

He gestured in frustration with his arms before resting them on his bent knees and staring into the flames in front of them. Hermione stared again, thinking that somehow his odd features seemed to fit together now, in a way that was almost elegant. It must be the effect of the fire light, and perhaps the stubble on his face, masking the harshness that used to dominate his expression.

“But... it's the right thing to do. You should be able to live freely. It was you who killed Voldemort,” she said.

There was that dark laugh again.

“I'll never be able to live freely, pardoned or not. I _am_ a murderer, Hermione,” he said.

Hermione shivered.

“No,” she said.

“I am,” he said again. “It's called an Unforgivable Curse for a reason. I will either be a murderer in hiding or a pardoned murderer.”

“Well, not to me,” Hermione said.

He sighed.

“It will be my legacy,” he said. “I have accepted that, but I am asking you to keep Potter from adding further insult to it.”

Hermione's curiosity was killing her. What did Harry know about Snape that he had not told her?

“If you tell me what you don't want Harry to reveal, I can make sure whatever it is doesn't come out to the public,” she said.

He scowled at the fire.

“Or I can arrange for Harry to meet you and then you can tell him yourself,” she said.

He stood. “No. Convince Potter to drop the case.”

Hermione stood as well.

“He won't listen to me. He'll want to know why I've had a change of heart,” she said.

Snape gave her a hard look.

“You could tell him the truth.”

Hermione wasn't sure what he meant.

“Tell him what happened when you were taken to the Dark Lord,” said Snape.

Oh. That. Her mind ground to a halt, recalling the faded past, the memory that was still sitting in her nightstand in its little vial.

“Put the memory back in your head and tell Potter I don't deserve to be pardoned. Do I need to show you how?” he asked.

“I know how,” Hermione said.

“Good,” he said.

With that, he extinguished the fire and everything went black.

  
“Wait,” Hermione said, lighting her own wand. “I don't hate you. I don't want to hate you.”

His face was shadowed, out of the reach of her wand light.

“Some things are unforgivable,” he said, and Disapparated.

Hermione stood in the cave with her wand still lit in her hand for a while, listening to the soft dripping of water in the distance. Finally, she Disapparated and returned to Grimmauld Place. Nobody else was home yet. Remus was probably with Teddy and Andromeda. Hermione didn't know where Ginny and Harry might be but was certain they were together. She sat in the dark kitchen with a cup of tea.

Hermione went to bed early that night. For the rest of the week, she refused to think about her meeting with Snape in the cave. It was not until Harry came to the joke shop to take her out to lunch that she was forced to consider Snape's request.

They were waiting on their food at a tiny tavern called Seventh Sister, when Harry said, “So, I have some good news, Hermione.”

“You're officially an Auror already?” Hermione guessed, even though she knew Harry wasn't done with the program.

“I wish. No, it's about Snape's case,” Harry said. “They've finally given us a court date.”

“Oh? When?” Hermione asked.

“September twenty-first,” Harry said.

Relieved, Hermione said, “That's months away.”

“I know. This is all taking so much longer than I thought it would,” said Harry. “Knowing the Wizengamot, it will probably be rescheduled a few times before we actually bring the case to the court.”

Harry shrugged and said, “Anyway, we're another step closer to getting Snape pardoned.”

Hermione nodded and said, “That's good.”

Harry looked at her in confusion.

“I thought you'd be more excited. Hermione, are you okay?” he asked.

“I'm fine, Harry. I just have a lot on my mind. Ah, work, you know?” she said.

“Sure,” Harry said.

Their food arrived, and Harry dug in before speaking again.

“If we do get that September date, we might get Snape pardoned right after your birthday,” he said. “Hopefully we'll celebrate twice that week.”

“That would be nice,” Hermione said, poking at her own lunch.

For the rest of the work day, Hermione fought an inner battle with her thoughts. Would she do what Snape asked? What could be in his past that he'd shared with Harry, that was worse than what he'd done to Hermione to remain the trusted servant of Lord Voldemort? What would he be more ashamed of coming to light in front of the Wizengamot?

That night, staring at the vial holding the memory as she turned it in her hand, Hermione realized it must be something deeply embarrassing that Snape didn't want to get out, something that Harry would not consider a strike against his character. Something that would not make him less likely to be pardoned, but which would cause others to pity or mock him. Perhaps memories like the one Harry had told her about seeing during his brief Occlumency lessons with Snape in their fifth year.

She put the vial carefully back in her nightstand. She wasn't ready. She had months to do it, maybe longer. Maybe the Wizengamot would never hear the case.

Hermione had another problem that summer – Neville. He showed up at the joke shop regularly, and every time George insisted that Neville take Hermione to lunch, because she “needed to get out of the shop”. Hermione had no objection to a lunch between friends. After all, she had lunch with Harry at least once a week. However, Neville was clearly under the impression that these lunches were going to lead to real dates.

Finally, she felt it had to be spelled out. They were at The Leaky Cauldron, tucked away in a corner booth.

“Neville, I think I need to say something,” Hermione said.

He looked nervous, but then Neville often looked nervous.

“I really enjoy our lunches. It's so nice to see a friend during the work day, and I love hearing about your projects and your new plants,” she said.

Neville nodded, a small nervous smile still on his face. She spoke again quickly, before he could say anything.

“I just want to make sure you don't think... ah, that these are dates,” Hermione said. “God, I feel so conceited saying that out loud! I'm sorry. Are we both on the same page here? We're just friends?”

“Oh...” Neville's face fell. He still wore his heart clearly on his sleeve. Hermione felt terrible as she watched him form a response.

“Of course. I – I mean, I don't think you're conceited. What I mean is, you're amazing, Hermione. Any wizard would... would be lucky to date you.”

He cleared his throat.

  
“I'm happy to be your friend,” he said. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, coming for lunch so often. I get bored now that I'm back living with my gran. It's harder to make friends when you aren't in school, and everyone else is always, ah, so busy.”

He sipped from his water glass, his face pink now.

“I know George likes to tease you about me,” Neville said. “I'll – I'll tell him to stop.”

“Oh, you don't need to do that, I'm not worried about George. And you can keep coming for lunch as often as you like. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't giving you the wrong impression,” Hermione said.

“Oh, no... not at all,” Neville said, forcing a smile again. “If I was going to ask you out, I would have, ah, done it by now.”

He laughed a little, his face still flushed. Hermione changed the subject to the greenhouse he was building in his backyard, much to his grandmother's annoyance – Mrs. Longbottom called it an eyesore. It seemed she would never get over the fact that Neville did not want to be an Auror.

“I'm slowly filling up the greenhouse,” Neville said, his demeanor changing to one of excitement. He loved talking about his plants.

As Neville described the state of his many plants, all of which had names, and his plans for the rest of the summer, Hermione's thoughts wandered to the inevitable end of summer and the decision that hung over her head. By the time they left The Leakey Cauldron, Hermione had no idea what Neville was talking about, and nodded pleasantly as she turned her mind back to their conversation.

“I'll see you next week?” Neville asked.

“Of course,” Hermione said. “Take care, Neville. Don't listen to your gran, I think you're greenhouse sounds lovely.”

She went back into the shop to find George leaning on the counter. He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“How was the lunch date?” he asked suggestively.

“George! For the last time, I'm not dating Neville,” Hermione said.

“Does he know that?” George said, chuckling a little.

“Yes. We actually talked about it today, if you must know,” Hermione said.

“Oh...”

George's face fell into a more serious expression.

“Poor lad,” he said.

“No, George, he's fine,” Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips. “Neville is a good person and a good friend. That's all. I don't understand why you've been so obsessed with playing matchmaker between me and Neville.”

George sighed and shifted his weight away from the counter. He stepped toward Hermione, lifted his hand to her cheek, and kissed her. Holding her shocked face in one hand, he smiled a crinkly-eyed smile at her, then raised his eyebrows.

“What...?” was all Hermione could think to say.

George dropped his hand from her cheek and ran it through his hair.

“I dunno, I guess I've wanted to do that for a while,” he said. “Agh, but I shouldn't have. I'm sorry.”

“For a while?” Hermione repeated. “But you... all those other girls...?”

“Yeah, this was a bad idea,” George said shaking his head, then rubbing his face. “Just forget it happened.”

“How am I meant to do that?” Hermione asked, laughing.

George laughed, too.

“I dunno. Oh, Merlin. This is awkward,” he said.

Hermione smiled as he gave her a sheepish, freckled grin, and something about the way he tried to hide it by folding his lips inward while his eyes kept laughing made her stop and reconsider. Before she could change her mind, she grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down to return the kiss.

His hands returned to her face, her neck, the back of her head. Hermione felt the edge of the shop counter begin to dig into her back.

“George.”

“Yeah?”

“This doesn't mean I want to date you,” she said, as he kissed her neck.

He said, “All right. Do you want to stop?”

He waited for her to answer, one hand resting lightly on her neck, his mouth near her ear. Hermione could feel her own racing pulse under his thumb.

“Do you?” she asked.

He responded by pointing his wand at the shop door and locking it.

“What say we close early,” he said.

George lifted her up to sit on the counter and kissed her again, his hands roaming down her body. Hermione focused only on the heat of the moment. She had wondered more than once, upon seeing another witch leave George's flat, if all that experience was paying off. It would seem so.

After a while, George said, “Want to go somewhere... more comfortable?”

“No,” Hermione said.

“No?” he asked.

“No,” she repeated, reaching for his trousers and tugging at his belt buckle.

The surprise on his face was rewarding. She smiled as he quickly undid his belt, unzipped, and performed the necessary spells. Hermione hiked her skirt up and awkwardly began tugging down her pants. George helped her out by vanishing them. She would complain about that later, she decided.

Hermione had never done anything like this outside of a bedroom before, and she never would have imagined enjoying it so much. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, her other hand finding its way between her legs as she wrapped them around George.

He put an arm around her waist and lifted her just enough to bring her to the edge of the counter, which just so happened to be the perfect height. As he entered her, Hermione let her head fall back and quickened the movement of her fingers. George's hand was hot on her back through her blouse. His fingers splayed and pressed into her tense back muscles as he moved.

Hermione came suddenly and heard him moan with her. She dropped her chin to her chest and looked at him, which seemed to be enough to get him there as well. He finished moments later and they stared at one another, both breathing heavily.

As he buckled his belt again, Hermione slid off the counter to go to the loo, and realized there was nothing to clean up.

“What spell did you use besides the protective ones?” she asked curiously.

“Ah, you mean the modified Displacement Charm,” he said, grinning. “I call it the Magic Rubber Charm.”

“You invented it?” Hermione asked.

“That's what I do, Hermione. I invent things,” George said, still grinning.

He leaned against the counter again, where their tryst had just taken place, looking very pleased with himself.

“So...” he said slowly. “Just to be clear, you're not in love with me, and you don't want to date me.”

Hermione nodded.

“So, we're friends who have sex?” he said. “I've always wanted to try that.”

“We're friends who _had_ sex,” Hermione said.

“Ow! Bloody hell, witch, that hurts! Wasn't it good enough for you?” he asked, jokingly holding his hand to his heart as if wounded.

Hermione laughed and said, “Technically you're my boss, even if you don't act like it. This seems like a really bad idea.”

“Oh, it is a terrible idea,” George said. “However, that has not once stopped me from trying out an idea before.”

“Sorry, George. This was a one-time thing. It was _very_ nice, though,” she said.

It was not a one time thing. Hermione went home that day wearing no knickers, since hers had been vanished, and it was not the last time that would happen. Over the course of the summer, she and George became friends who sometimes had sex after work, always somewhere in the shop. In fact, Hermione had never seen the inside of George's flat.

It would not do to think about how devastated Ron would be if he knew. He was not going to know. Hermione felt free. She could not remember the last time she felt so unburdened. For a while, she had been afraid that she'd never want to be with a man again.


	16. More Questions

**SEVERUS**

Severus was living at Spinner's End. He despised the house and nearly every single memory associated with it, but after watching it carefully for months he had decided that the Ministry did not know about it and it was the safest place for him to be.

It was miraculous that nobody who knew the location of the house had betrayed him, but then all of them were dead except for the Malfoy family, who were also in hiding and had likely fled the country.

He had been living as a Muggle in London before he returned to his childhood home. Hiding in plain sight, the last place anyone would expect him to be, in the same city as the Ministry of Magic. That is, until Hermione Granger ruined it by popping up in a Muggle bookshop at the exact moment he stepped inside.

It was more convenient to be back at Spinner's End, even though every time he entered his abode his mind wanted to go to dark places that were hard to push from his thoughts. He could, however, practice magic and brew potions freely, without fear of discovery. Up until then, he'd been brewing in a cave. The same cave where he'd taken Granger and begged her to get Potter off his case.

Granger. Severus continued to watch her as well as Potter. He'd begun keeping an eye on them since the meeting in the bookshop. The third wheel of the trio, Weasley, seemed to have gone his own way since leaving Hogwarts. Lupin was still living at Grimmauld Place, while his child lived with Andromeda Tonks.

Hermione was the least interesting of them to follow. Work, home, and the occasional lunch date was the extent of her activities beyond running errands and of course, visiting the library. When her friends went out for the evening, Granger almost always opted to stay in. Severus could not blame her for that, since Potter and Ginny Weasley were still in the throes of infatuation and couldn't keep their hands off of each other.

Severus was surprised to see that Hermione Granger seemed to be the least successful of all her friends. Where was her obnoxious over-achieving spirit? Why was she content to work in a joke shop instead of continuing her academic career? Surely Minerva had offered her a research grant. Potter was an Auror, the Weasley girl was playing Quidditch professionally, and now Ronald Weasley had somehow been accepted to the Auror training program as well. Even Longbottom – _Longbottom_ – who was her frequent lunch date, seemed to have more ambition than the most promising student Hogwarts had seen in years.

Granger had clearly been broken by the war in a way that her friends were not, and Severus suspected it was mostly – if not entirely – his fault. Perhaps Dumbledore and Tom Riddle shared some of the blame. Albus-fucking-Dumbledore was responsible for a lot of broken people, including Severus himself.

Severus now had enough Polyjuice Potion in reserve that he could go out and about in wizarding London. Like Mad-Eye Moody's imposter, he kept a flask of the foul potion on him at all times, and was able to spend his days out of the house if he pleased. It was better to walk around as someone other than Severus Snape. At no point in his life had he been inconspicuous, between his rivalry with Potter and Black, becoming a teacher at Hogwarts as known Death Eater – even before he killed Albus he rarely went anywhere without being recognized and hated. The hatred came from all sides, including other Death Eaters.

He didn't follow Granger much anymore. After all, she never did anything surprising. He was often in Diagon Alley when she left work, and would wait near the joke shop until she Disapparated. Frequently, she walked through wizarding London for a while before going home. It was not until he read the news that Potter would be arguing the case for Severus Snape's pardon to the Wizengamot on September 21st, that Severus decided it was time for another chat with Hermione. This time he wouldn't Disapparate her off the street without warning.

It was risky, but Severus timed his Polyjuice dosage to end exactly at the time she normally left the joke shop – a quarter past five. He wore a wizard's hat with a large brim, which was not an uncommon sight in Diagon Alley, though it was not considered the height of fashion anymore. To be safe, he was also Disillusioned and stood in the shadow of the alley beside the shop, under the stairs that led up to George Weasley's flat.

When she did not exit the shop at 5:15, Severus was annoyed. He stood impatiently trying not to tap him foot on the cobblestone. Fifteen minutes later, she still had not emerged, and Severus decided he would try again the next day. Perhaps she had left via another exit, of which he was not aware.

Before he could turn on the spot and Disapparate, he heard the voice of Ron Weasley.

“You two go on to the bar, I'll get Hermione and George,” he said.

Severus froze in the shadow of the alley and watched Potter and Ginny Weasley walk past the joke shop. Potter stopped and stole a kiss from his girlfriend before continuing on.

“All right, Ron. See you in a minute,” he called. “Tell Hermione she has to come out tonight. Don't let her go home and read again!”

“As if anyone can tell her anything,” Weasley muttered.

He stepped up to the closed shop door and tried to open it, but of course it was already locked. He sighed and banged on the door loudly.

“Hello? Hermione? George? Did you forget we're going out tonight?” he called, trying to peer in the windows, but the shades had been pulled down.

“Where the fuck are they?” he said aloud.

Weasley walked around both sides of the shop, trying to peek inside, to no avail. He then climbed the stairs in front of Severus and banged on the door of George Weasley's flat.

“Bloody hell,” he said, and tried banging on the door again before giving up and walking away in the direction Potter had gone.

Curious, Severus drank another dose of his potion, made sure he was still Disillusioned, and crept out to the storefront. After a moment's consideration, he went back around to the stairs and climbed up to the height of the second story window. The shade was down, but with a little Wandless Magic, Severus coaxed it up just enough to see into the shop. The window gave him a view into the loft above the shop floor, which held two offices and a storage closet. His eyes were drawn immediately to the only light in the shop, coming from the open door of the nearest office, a lamp which appeared to flicker as something moved in front of it.

Not something, someone. Hermione Granger, unmistakable even in the dim light by the silhouette of her thick curly mass of hair, was straddling the lap of a ginger-haired man who was sprawled in a high-backed office chair, which sat against a wall of bookshelves. George Weasley, who it must be, lifted his hands to her chest, slipping them into her unbuttoned blouse, then around her back, bracing her as she arched backward. A change in the rhythm of her movement suggested she was in the middle of a climax. Her open shirt slipped halfway down her arms.

Severus had the immediate urge to Disapparate away but he was frozen in shock just long enough to see George pull her forward again and place his hands on her hips. She braced her hands on the arms of the chair.

He tore himself away from the window, found his balance on the stair, and Disapparated.

Forced to reevaluate his assessment of Granger, he came to the conclusion that the affair was a secret, though the reason for the secrecy remained unclear. In any case, it was something he could use. He now knew something about _her_ that she did not want to be public knowledge. Perhaps now she could be convinced to do as he asked, and persuade Potter to drop the pardon case.

The next day was the beginning of August, and Severus realized that her friends must be celebrating Potter's birthday that evening. Surely she would join them for the occasion. He would have to confront her another day.

Severus was reminded, sitting with an open book and a glass of whiskey that evening, of the inadequacy of his own sexual experiences. Even Granger, who had turned out to be perhaps the least interesting of his former students, was at nineteen – or was it twenty – having more luck than he had at that age. It did not help that he began teaching at Hogwarts so early in life. The normal duties of a Hogwarts' professor were life-consuming during the school year and left no time for much else. On top of that, he was essentially Dumbledore's personal assistant, in addition to being his spy and eventually his confidante. Or as close to a confidante as was possible with a wizard like Albus Dumbledore.

There were times that Severus wondered if the reason Dumbledore asked so much of him, and made sure he had no time for any personal excursions, was not because he didn't trust Severus. Albus expected a lot of Severus, things he would never have expected from others, but he was also protective of him. When he had begged Severus to agree to be the one who killed him, it had been with a tenderness that felt uncomfortably intimate, a romanticized death pact instead of a coldly calculated plan.

In any case, between his unrequited feelings for Lily and his general unpopularity and unfortunate looks, young Severus had spurned the advances of anyone who seemed remotely interested, and those advances were few indeed. A few younger Slytherin girls in his sixth and seventh year had made some sort of bet over which one of them could get him into bed. He still had no idea why they did it, but two of them had succeeded. Perhaps by that time, with the older, wealthier Slytherins like Malfoy gone, and the rumors that Severus was already working for the Dark Lord, the odds were in his favor.

Once, not long after graduating, Lucius bought him a night with a witch after one of his parties. It had served to make the ache of wanting Lily, who was about to marry James Potter, infinitely worse. Never in his life had Severus been with a woman that he cared for in any capacity, and he never would. It wasn't even about Lily anymore – it was simply too late for him. His life would necessarily be one of solitude, and any intimacy he managed to find would be of body only, not of spirit. It still cut deeply, knowing that he would never have the one thing he'd always coveted so desperately. He was resigned to it, but had not yet managed to bury that pain.

Some days later, Severus decided once again to speak to try and speak to Granger. This time his plan worked. Just as she came into view of his spot in the alley, he said her name.

“Hermione Granger,” he said.

She stopped short, shivered, and look directly at him, though she would not really be able to see him while Disillusioned.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“We need to talk again,” he said.

She crossed her arms and a stubborn look crossed her face, but then she stepped forward into the alley with him.

“Here?” she asked.

“Of course not,” he said. “Do you remember the location of our last talk well enough to Apparate there?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Good. Meet me there.”

With that, he Apparated to the cave. She appeared seconds later beside him.

“I'd like an explanation,” he said, holding up the page he'd ripped from the paper announcing Potter's court date for the pardon case.

Hermione stared at the page, then dropped her wand to her side. Once again, he wondered why she was still using his old, ugly wand from his own school days. It had originally been his grandfather's, a wizard who died when Severus was four or five. His mother claimed to have stolen it from the house at the funeral because she wanted her son to have it, but Severus thought her reasons had probably been pettier than that.

“I can't do it,” she said. “I can't tell Harry... what you want me to tell him. Do you understand what you're asking me to do? How... how humiliating it would be?”

It was his turn to stare.

“You did nothing wrong,” he said. “Why would you be humiliated?”

“Because I don't want to be a victim! I don't want Harry's pity, or anyone else's! I would think you, of all people, could understand that,” she said.

“What makes you think I, particularly, should understand being pitied?” he asked, and a bit of heat rose to his face.

Hermione shook her head and said, “I just think... you'd rather be hated than pitied and... and that whatever you showed Harry made him stop hating you, and made him pity you enough to believe you weren't loyal to Voldemort. Harry does feel sorry for you. I know that much, even if I don't know why.”

She peered shrewdly at him, and continued, “If it was something good, or brave, or admirable, you wouldn't care if he shared it with the court.”

She lifted her chin, clearly fighting emotion, and said, “I won't talk about what you did to me with anyone. Least of all Harry.”

Now was the time to tell her he knew her other secret, and threaten to expose her affair with George Weasley.

“It seems you have moved on well enough,” he said.

“How would you know?” she asked. “How would you... bloody know?”

Severus couldn't do it. He simply stared at her.

“So,” she said. “Why don't you tell me what it is you don't want Harry blabbing about to anyone, and I'll make sure he doesn't. I'm not going to stop the case.”

Severus tried to convince himself to do it, to blackmail her into agreeing.

“It's only fair. You know the most humiliating thing that's happened to me. If you are sorry that you... that you had to do it... then tell me your story, Severus Snape,” she said.

She sat down on a rock and waited. It was out of the question. He was not going to stand in a cave and reveal his deepest, most painful secrets to this witch. But he owed her something. It was either the truth about his past or an apology, and he had no idea how to apologize for what he'd done. The was no apology that would suffice.

He brought his wand tip to his temple and closed his eyes. It took a while to gather all of the memories. He would show her all of it, even the bits he had kept from Potter. All the times he cried over Lily Evans, and later Lily Potter. The moments he was sure she loved him back, and the moments of rejection. Every horrible thing James Potter and Sirius Black said and did in their seven-year-long campaign to humiliate Severus in any and every way possible, while Lily pitied him and tried in vain to make them stop.

He would show her the breakdown he experienced after Lily's death, the attempts to end his own life thwarted by Dumbledore, the summers he spent drunk in the castle dungeons, avoiding all human contact, wallowing in his shame and anger. Every pathetic moment.

The memories slid from his mind and hung in the air below his raised wand.

“If you want to know, come here,” he said.

Her wide brown eyes sparkled with the shimmer of the silvery memories between them when she approached.

“Ready?” he asked.

She closed her eyes and nodded. He pressed the wand to her temple. She winced and squirmed in discomfort as his memories were sent into her consciousness. Severus stepped back and waited. He lit the fire, and watched her face.

At first, her expression was blank, and her eyes remained shut. Slowly, her mouth fell open, just a little. He could see her eyes moving beneath her eyelids, and her brow furrowed. Then, tears began leaking out and running down her face. She didn't open her eyes until after she sniffed a few times and wiped her sleeve over her wet face.

She looked at him and collapsed onto the rock she'd been seated on earlier, looking dazed. It would be overwhelming, feeling all of the emotion of the worst moments in a lifetime at once. Severus went over and lifted his wand. She tilted her head slightly, and pulled her hair back from her temple. He took the memories back and returned them to his own mind.

Hermione looked up at him.

“Did you show Harry all of that?” she asked.

“No.”

“Which parts does he know?”

Severus crouched down next to her.

“He knows about his mother. I spared him the full truth about his father. It would not have helped convince him to trust me,” he said.

“Oh,” said Hermione.

She stared into the blue flames.

“Why are you so ashamed of people knowing?” she asked.

Severus watched the blue flames throw flickering light over her profile.

“As you said, Granger, I want to move on,” he said. “I didn't expect to be alive this long.”

He hadn't expected Potter to live, either, but he didn't say that.

“I'd rather not be known for that part of my past,” he said.

She nodded.

“If you wish to forget... certain events...” Severus said, “You could scrub the memory, then put it back into your mind. It will be gone. You will completely forget.”

It was an extreme measure, but one that others had taken before. Not Severus.

“I know. I'd never do that to my mind,” Hermione said.

“If you can't move past even the imprint of the memory...” he hesitated uncomfortably.

“It's not the imprint. I put it back in like you suggested,” Hermione said. “I'm not going to take it out. I don't think it's healthy.”

He tried to stand up, but she grabbed his forearm.

“Did you really have no choice?” she asked. “There was no other way?”

A sick feeling washed over Severus as he remembered the moment he made the decision to be the one to 'take care of the Mudblood' as the Dark Lord called it. He looked down at her hand, where it tightly gripped his cloaked arm. He put his hand over hers, which was cold and white-knuckled.

“I could think of no other way to spare you from greater suffering while also maintaining my cover,” he said.

Her grip on his arm tightened and she nodded shakily.

“I understand,” she said, but the words barely tumbled out of her mouth before she began sobbing.

If it was anyone else behaving so hysterically in his presence, Severus would have pried himself from their grasp and left immediately, but his guilt kept him there as she leaned heavily on his arm and cried.

“I'm sorry,” she gasped between sobs. “I'm sorry...”  
  


She let go of him. He desperately wanted to leave her to cry alone in the cave, but instead he sat down fully on the ground.

“I know you could have let them do – do worse,” she said. “I know it wasn't easy. I know it was a risk.”

She seemed to calm herself substantially as she talked through it.

“What you endured, him invading your mind, making you watch it with him... I wouldn't be able to do that for anyone. Even to save their life,” she said.

She finally looked at him again with watery eyes, and sniffed.

“I didn't understand how you could force yourself to do it unless some part of you wanted to,” she said. “I didn't want to understand. But I do now, and... I want to forgive you.”

Severus shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

“I don't need your forgiveness.”

“ _I_ need it,” Hermione said. “I have to forgive you so I can... so I can get past this.”

Silence, except for another sniff from Hermione.

“Can I ask you some questions?” she asked.

No, he did not want to talk with her anymore tonight, or ever again. Whenever he spoke to Hermione Granger he stopped feeling like himself and became someone different. Weaker. It was unsettling.

“If you must,” he said.

“I think we have to talk about what happened, or it will never get better,” Hermione said.

Why did she think it would get better? It must be because she was young.

“You performed Wandless Magic on me,” she said.

He waited, then replied, “That is not a question.”

“What spells were you performing?” she asked.

“Contraception, numbing... healing,” he said.

Lubrication, but he didn't think that needed to be mentioned.

“To the best of my ability. I'm not an expert in Healing Magic,” he added.

She nodded and tossed a pebble into the fire.

“How did you keep him from realizing that's what you were doing?” she asked.

Severus realized he was grinding his teeth as he unclenched his jaw to speak.

“He did not know I was able to perform Wandless Magic,” Severus said. “I also employed a low level of Occlumency during... the encounter... to disguise my true intentions and feelings.”

She nodded again. Severus watched the fire and waited for another question. It was a while before she spoke again.

“Was...” she trailed off, seeming to think better of whatever she wanted to ask.

“Just ask,” he said, feeling helpless. “Whatever it is.”

“Was it because he couldn't do it himself. Is that why he... watched?”

Severus closed his eyes and said, “I believe you are correct.”

“The other Death Eaters didn't care about letting him in their minds like that?” Hermione asked in disgust. “They just volunteered for it?”

Severus shook his head, his eyes still closed.

“Normally, he took the memories and... enjoyed them alone. I did not anticipate it, but it was not the first time he required that I prove my loyalty by allowing him into my mind,” he said.

Severus kept his eyes shut, and the soothing blue light of the fire danced in blurry waves through his eyelids.

“I wanted to be the one that killed Bellatrix,” Hermione said softly. “I was going to use the Killing Curse. I'm still disappointed I didn't get the chance.”

He looked at her.

“It is good you did not,” he said. “The Killing Curse is dangerous. Powerful enough to make an accidental horcrux, under the right circumstances.”

“Is that why you didn't use it against Voldemort? You were afraid it would damage your soul?” Hermione asked.

“As I told you before, the sword was conveniently near his throat at the right moment... but I was glad to avoid the Killing Curse,” he said.

“I've always wondered, what was the spell you used to stun Ron? The one that looked just like the Killing Curse?” she asked.

“A simple Stunning Spell, modified to mimic the green flash,” Severus said.

“I've never heard of it... did you invent it?” she asked.

“I did,” he said.

Hermione sighed heavily and rubbed her hands over her face. Her eyes were still puffy from crying.

“I can't go home like this,” she said. “I'm sure I look frightful.”

She did look a mess. Severus got up from the ground and she stood as well.

“Let me see your face,” he said, moving so that the light from the fire hit her fully.

She turned her head toward him. He lifted his wand to her face and said, “Close your eyes.”

Severus performed the charms he'd used on himself many times before.

“I need to learn that one,” Hermione said. “Do I look better?”

“Much better,” he said.


	17. The Cave Again

Hermione Disapparated from the cave first. Severus sat for hours beside his charmed fire, reliving the past. Perhaps it was possible to heal, not just to suppress the memories or ignore the pain. How could a witch of just twenty or so years be wise enough to face the darkness and talk her way out of it?

He was perplexed by what had happened that evening. He didn't need her forgiveness, and did not want it, but somehow despite himself he had accepted it. His mind was just a little bit lighter than it had been for many years, and it was a strange feeling.

As Severus waited for September 21st to arrive, and tried to decide whether or not he hoped Potter won the case, he began spending much more time in the cave brewing potions. In addition to brewing useful things that he could sell for income, which was how he had been supporting himself thus far in hiding, Severus resumed his own experimental work. He had not been able to continue his research since the return of the Dark Lord. He had forgotten how therapeutic it was to lose himself in brewing and annotations and calculations.

For anyone else, living for over a year in isolation from society, rarely conversing with another soul, would be enough to drive them to madness. For Severus, it was a relief. Society had never made his life easier or happier. He was no longer bound to a school building and the teaching profession. There was very little he missed about Hogwarts, where the most painful moments of his life had passed. Simply being away from the castle seemed to improve the state of his mind.

He managed to make it to the day before the trial without much concern for the outcome. Either way, he would have his potions and his privacy, even if it meant relocating to a new location and making it Unplottable. He planned to remain Untraceable as well. However, he was beginning to realize that he would like the option of appearing in public as himself again. Polyjuice was time-consuming to make and his body would build a tolerance to it over time.

So, on the morning of September 20th, a Monday, Severus went to Diagon Alley disguised with Polyjuice, to wait for Hermione to arrive for the day. He'd decided this was a better strategy than waiting for her to leave, after his moment of accidental voyeurism. He sat drinking a cup of tea on the patio of the shop across the street, with a full view of the joke shop. There were few people out this early, and he was sure to see her arrival and catch her before she went inside.

However, before Hermione appeared, Severus saw the door to George Weasley's flat open. A witch wearing a tiny shift dress that barely covered her arse and a pair of high heels tiptoed out, followed by Weasley. She giggled, a high-pitched sound that carried across the pavement, and grabbed Weasley's face to plant a kiss on his lips. After this goodbye, she tottered carefully down the stairs and Disapparated. Weasley watched her go with a sly smirk, then closed the door. A few minutes later he reappeared and walked the short distance to the upper level door into the shop, locking it behind him after he entered.

Severus scowled at the spot where Weasley had just been standing. It was none of his business, but he despised wizards who cheated, and he could not help feeling some amount of anger for Hermione if that was the case. Perhaps their relationship had ended.

Then she appeared, walking up the street toward the shop. Severus waited until she came closer, and spoke.

“Hermione.”

Her head whipped around and she regarded him in confusion.

“I'm sorry? Do we know each other?” she asked.

“Yes. You've seen my memories,” he said, not too loudly.

She glanced around, then walked over to him and sat down.

“Snape?” she mouthed, putting her hand to her face as if someone was around to read her lips.

“Indeed,” he said.

It suddenly seemed to dawn on her that Severus might have been in Diagon Alley masquerading as someone else before.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Before he could answer, she suddenly pressed her fist to her mouth and turned positively green. In horror, Severus watched her fight back the urge to retch.

“Are you ill?” he asked.

“No...” she gulped and pressed her hand to her mouth again. “No. I'm just a bit... hungover.”

At his questioning look she explained, “Yesterday was my birthday. Thanks to Ron and Harry, there was a lot of Firewhiskey involved. This is the first time I've ever... overdone it.”

She shook her head, as if to clear it, and looked at him.

“So, are you going to tell me why you're here?” she asked.

“I'd like to speak to you about tomorrow's case,” he said. “You can meet me after work today, at the usual place.”

“The cave,” Hermione said. “Why a cave? It's always so cold there.”

“Bring a cloak,” Severus suggested.

He stood up and so did she.

“I may have to go to the Apothecary for a Hangover Cure,” she said. “How embarrassing. George is going to find this hilarious...”

She seemed to realize she was speaking out loud and said, “Anyway. Best go now.”

“Walk over to the alley and wait by the stairs,” Severus said.

“Ah...”

“Just do it, Granger.”

He Disapparated home, grabbed one of his vials of Hangover Cure, and Apparated back to the alley, directly under the stairs.

“Here,” he said, holding out the bottle.

“What... is this a hangover potion?” she asked. “Thank you.”

Hermione opened the potion and drank it furtively, then hurried over to the joke shop's entrance and went inside.

Severus spent a few hours in London wandering the streets and through shops. Eventually, he wandered back to the joke shop and after a moment of indecision, went inside. It was moderately crowded inside with parents and children too young for Hogwarts. Severus walked through the aisles packed with joke items, of which there was a great variety. They were unique items – all seemed to have been the result of Weasley invention instead of the typical inventory found in other shops catering to children.

Just as he was about to investigate the section behind a curtain with an “ages 17 and up” sign, he heard the voice of George Weasley.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “Can I help you find anything?”

“What sort of joke items are only for of-age wizards,” said Severus.

“Ah, yes, well... you look like you'll pass the age line. Have a look,” said George, pulling the curtain aside and waving him in.

Thankfully, he did not follow Severus. The shelves were filled with boxes that were far less gaudy than the items in the rest of the shop. The items themselves were not jokes at all, but a combination of small, unobtrusive “spying” devices and... Severus studied one of the boxes on a top shelf for a moment. Adult toys.

He walked out and noticed Weasley watching him from the shop counter.

“Thanks for stopping by,” he called, as Severus left the shop.

Severus brewed for the rest of the afternoon. Time got away from him and Hermione Apparated into the cave while he was cooling his last potion of the day, stirring in a practiced figure-eight pattern. She was wearing a warm cloak and stood watching him, as if waiting for permission to speak.

“I shall be done in two minutes,” he said.

“All right.”

She sat down and waited, watching him stir the potion slower with each tenth turn, until it had thickened and cooled enough to bottle.

“Did you ever enjoy teaching Potions?” Hermione asked.

He did not answer, but cleaned his work area and moved the cauldron aside. When he was finished tidying up, he chose his own seat, not too far from her.

“If you had been in my seventh year Potions class, you might have learned to enjoy it as well,” he said. “It is a different experience without the dunderheaded masses mucking up their brews and whining incessantly.”

“It was nicer last year, with Ginny as my Potions partner,” Hermione reflected.

“With Horace Slughorn as your instructor?” he asked.

She nodded.

“How any student learns to brew with his constant bloviating...” Severus said. “I imagine it has grown worse over the years since I was his student.”

Hermione did not have a response, so he continued.

“I asked you to come here to tell me about the case,” he said. “What does Potter have planned for tomorrow?”

She was surprised.

“You want to know their arguments?” she asked.

“I want to know what you know,” he said.

“Well, I talked to Harry about your memories. Just so you know, it wasn't easy to get him to tell me about your feelings for his mum. He wasn't planning to tell anyone,” she said.

If that was true, Severus had bared his entire life to her for no reason. He bit his tongue and waited for her to go on.

“They've had their case prepared for months,” Hermione said. “They were waiting on the Wizengamot to agree to hear it. Harry, Ron, and I are going to read our statements about working with you after Dumbledore's death. I'll share my memories of your part in the Battle of Hogwarts. Remus wanted to speak about your part in providing Wolfsbane to him throughout everything, but it's too dangerous for him to appear in public. Instead, Harry will read his statement to the court.”

“Will they require the use of Veritaserum?” Severus asked.

“No, at least not tomorrow. If they request testimony or questioning under Veritaserum, it will happen on a second date,” Hermione said. “Hopefully, our case is strong enough that it won't be requested. We hope to have a pardon after the first day.”

“That is an extraordinary level of optimism, even for you, Granger.”

“It's not,” she said. “There is something else. When Harry went to speak to Dumbledore's portrait about the case, he found something. Not only will the portrait speak on your behalf, but Dumbledore left memories behind – his own memories of planning his death with you. The portrait told Harry where to find them.”

Severus considered the case she'd described for a moment.

“In regard to the memories you are going to share,” he said.

Hermione seemed to be holding her breath.

“Have you considered that the Ministry is going to be very interested to know how you came to learn the Mind Arts?” he asked.

“I don't know them, not really,” Hermione said. “I've taught myself a little Occlumency, but the only other thing I know how to do is remove my own memories.”

“That is Mind Magic,” he said. “Dumbledore could get away with it because he was Albus Dumbledore, but it is not a branch of magic practiced by good upstanding citizens.”

“So, you don't think I should share my own memories?” Hermione asked. “I thought it would make our case indisputable.”

“Dumbledore's should be enough,” Severus said.

“Well, not necessarily,” Hermione said. “After all, even though Dumbledore planned his own death with you, perhaps they'll say you were still playing both sides for your own survival. My memories are indisputable. You hacked off his head with the bloody sword of Gryffindor!”

Severus shook his head and said, “Keep those images to yourself, Granger. Your testimony should be enough.”

“Fine, if that's what you want,” she said.

They sat contemplating what the next day would bring.

“All of the Hogwarts staff are going to be there, you know,” Hermione said. “McGonagall wants to speak on your behalf, so she is going to be the first to talk. She told Harry she's ashamed that she did not notice all the ways you were actually protecting the school and the students that year.”

Severus stood up.

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head. Severus went back to his work bench and began pulling out jars of ingredients to prep his next brew.

“What are you brewing?” she asked.

“I am preparing for another batch of Polyjuice Potion,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, taking a few hesitant steps closer. “Hopefully you won't need it after tomorrow.”

“We shall see,” he said. “However, no matter the outcome, Polyjuice has its uses.”

She nodded and watched him lay out the ingredients neatly. He should tell her to go, but there was a light in her eyes that had been missing for a few years – the spark of academic interest. She was memorizing everything he did as he began to cut, crush, and separate ingredients on the workbench.

“I once brewed Polyjuice in the girl's lavatory at school,” Hermione said.

“I know,” he replied. “It was I who helped Madam Pomfrey reverse the results of your unfortunate experiment.”

“Oh. It was successful, you know. If I hadn't accidentally used a cat hair...”

Severus could not help smirking as he recalled the sight.

“Do you know how close you came to remaining a cat-person forever?” he asked. “If your Polyjuice had been brewed well enough to be at full potency, that was a likely outcome.”

“It wasn't the best idea I've ever had,” she admitted.

Severus prepared the base for the potion and Hermione watched silently as he added the ingredients one by one, using all of his well-tested techniques. When he began to clean up, she stepped up to the cauldron and peered at his work.

“You aren't going to heat it?” she asked.

Severus cleaned his stirring rod and put it away.

“No. It's best to let the base sit overnight,” he said.

“So you'll be here brewing Polyjuice tomorrow while we're in front of the Wizengamot,” she said.

“Perhaps.”

Severus had been toying with the idea of drinking some Polyjuice and showing up for his own pardon undetected. She didn't need to know that, though.

“Well, I suppose I should go,” Hermione said. “I'll come back tomorrow and tell you how it went.”

She Disapparated, and Severus went home.


	18. The Case for Severus Snape

Severus rose early the next morning and prepared for the day – a full flask of Polyjuice and a good breakfast. The hearing was sure be long.

The case was presented as Hermione had described, with the omission of her own memories. After each testimony, the Wizengamot conferred with one another under the privacy of sound-blocking charms.

Severus was sitting in the vicinity of Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom, among other former students in attendance. He watched the backs of their heads as they whispered to one another and tried to guess what the members of the Wizengamot were saying. He noticed that George Weasley was not in attendance, though half of his family was there.

Minerva opened the day with a concise report of all the times Severus was merciful to students when he could have punished them as harshly as the Carrows, and the moments she witnessed him intervene in a punishment before the Carrows gave it, sending students instead to detentions with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest, or to the kitchens to be put to work by the house-elves.

“In short, I have come to the conclusion that by allowing me to witness such decisions, Severus hoped I would realize the truth and confront him, so that we could work together to save Hogwarts and our students. I regret to say that grief and hatred caused me ignore these clues, and to avoid speaking to Severus at every turn, and that if he had attempted to explain Dumbledore's death to me it would have ended in a duel,” she said.

The truth was that Minerva had always been hanging around, determined to make sure no student endured an unjust or torturous punishment, and thus had seen Severus' attempts to reign in the Carrows. He had not planned on telling her the truth, or recruiting her help. Her hatred and rage toward him had been a perfect cover while under the scrutiny of the Carrows and the Dark Lord.

Potter's speech was excruciating to hear – he was so painfully earnest and emotional that Severus wanted to jump up and hex his mouth shut. However, he had to concede that the act seemed to work on both the Wizenmagot and the citizens watching the case unfold. Thankfully, Severus was only described as his mother's friend when Potter recounted the memories he'd shared. It was enough. Severus saw one of the witches of the Wizengamot surreptitiously wipe the corner of her eye.

Severus barely paid attention to Ron Weasley's stumbling narrative. Hermione was next. She brought with her a stack of parchment covered in writing.

“I was the first person to know the truth about Severus Snape,” she began. “When I was captured by Snatchers and taken to the Death Eaters along with Harry and Ron, I thought it was the end for all of us. It just so happened that while Bellatrix Lestrange was questioning and torturing me, the boys were able to escape. I was not so lucky, and Lestrange took me to Voldemort.”

A little gasp went up, presumably from those who still could not abide hearing the name spoken aloud.

“As I waited, chained in a cell, for Voldemort himself to question me, and inevitably kill me, I thought my story was over.”

She looked around the room.

“I'm only standing here today because of Severus Snape. He saved me from certain torture and death. You can't imagine my shock, to be rescued by the man who...”

She began to choke up, but powered through the words anyway.

“Who I believed to be a murderer and the worst sort of dark wizard imaginable. Saving me was a great risk, not only to himself but to the students at Hogwarts that he was protecting. Imagine my even greater shock when I learned the truth about Dumbledore's death and his plan to make sure Severus was near Voldemort when it came time for Harry Potter to face him again. To make sure Harry succeeded.”

Hermione looked around at the crowd, then up at the Wizengamot.

“Can you imagine that burden?” she asked. “And yet, even though it endangered that plan, Severus Snape saved me from Voldemort.”

A thick silence had descended on the room. Hermione was delivering her testimony far more masterfully than Potter and Weasley had managed.

“So, as I tell you the rest of the story, I want you to remember that without Severus Snape it would not exist. I would have died before we made it the Battle of Hogwarts. I also want you think of Snape as an Order member, deep undercover, rather than the murderer he has been believed to be for the past few years. Above all, as I continue to tell you about Severus Snape and the fall of Voldemort, I want you to remember that I was not the 'Chosen One'. Many lives were lost in the war, and mine would have been one of them, if not for the compassion of Severus Snape.”

Severus was stunned and impressed as Hermione continued, now methodically recounting the events of the Battle of Hogwarts. Wisely, none of the testimony revealed the existence of the Dark Lord's horcruxes, so Hermione was able to conveniently leave out the fact that Severus had no choice but to save her life. Potter and Weasley alone would never have been able to avoid detection whilst searching for them, and very likely would have given up the search and shown up on the Dark Lord's doorstep looking for a fight.

After another break, they returned for the culmination of the case for the pardon – Dumbledore's memories. Severus did not need to watch them. Every detail of the memories was still vivid in his mind, albeit from his own perspective, not Dumbledore's. Perhaps Albus had planned his emotional plea for just this occasion, because Severus would have been more swiftly moved by a calculated outline of the reasons it was necessary.

To close, Dumbledore's portrait spoke.

“These were the memories left by Albus Dumbledore for the purpose of exonerating Severus Snape. He also left a letter, expressing that under no circumstances should Severus be held responsible for his death. As his trusted friend, colleague, and servant to the Order of the Phoenix, Severus Snape was compelled by both verbal contract and binding magic to use the Killing Curse to mercifully end the life of Albus Dumbledore, who had contracted a malignant Flesh-Eating Curse and wished to avoid a most painful death.”

The Wizengamot were each provided with a copy of Dumbledore's letter, and Severus watched as they read the brief note carefully.

Severus did not return to the courtroom after the next recess. He Apparated back to his cave and completed the next preparations for his Polyjuice brew. The Wizengamot must not have taken long to deliberate, because Hermione appeared in the cave not long after he lowered the heat and left the cauldron to simmer.

His head turned as he heard the soft pop of Apparition, and he could see the outcome written all over her face before she spoke.

Nevertheless, he said, “Well?”

“You've been pardoned,” she said, and a brilliant smile took over her face.

He nodded and said, “A pleasant surprise.”

She laughed.

“That's all you have to say? A pleasant surprise?! You're free.”

He would never be free from the past, but she was so happy for him that he agreed.

“Yes,” he said. “You may thank Potter for me.”

“Why don't you thank him yourself?” she asked.

He only stared at her in response, which dampened her excitement. This was the most life he'd seen in her since before the war.

“I should thank you, Hermione. It was not Potter's words that won that pardon,” he said. “You should consider going into the legal profession.”

“Were you _there_?” she asked. “In disguise?”

“I could hardly go as myself,” he said.

“Why didn't you tell me you were coming?” she asked. “So, you already knew we won, that's why you've barely reacted to the news.”

“On the contrary, I left before the decision was given,” he said.

“How can you be so calm? Are you happy?”

He let out a little scoffing laugh.

“I am pleased. How else did you imagine I'd show it? By lighting a few firecrackers? Bursting into joyous song?”

She smiled and shook her head.

“I've been worried this whole time that you really hoped the pardon would be denied, and that you'd disappear never to be seen again,” she said.

“I may still do that,” he admitted.

“Well. I hope you don't. I'd miss you.”

That seemed to be such a ridiculous statement, that Severus laughed, just a short little 'ha', and went to make sure he'd put a protective charm around his Polyjuice caldron.

“Go back and celebrate with your friends, Hermione,” he said. “Aren't they waiting on you?”

“They are,” she said.

He waited for her to go, but instead after a long silence, she said, “You could come. We'll all be at Grimmauld Place to celebrate tonight.”

Severus turned his head and saw a familiar determined look on her face.

“No,” he said.

“But – ”

“No, and don't even think about telling them you know where to find me. Have you?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” Hermione said.

She sighed. “Goodbye, then.”

A _pop_ and she was gone. What was she thinking, asking him to come out to Grimmauld Place and watch Harry-bloody-Potter get drunk to congratulate himself for helping the pathetic bastard who had pined over his dead mother?

Severus sank down onto his favorite rock and spent the night in the cave sifting through his own mind.

He did not speak to Hermione for months after the pardon. There was no longer a reason to see her. Instead of taking advantage of his new freedom, he remained in hiding and continued to use Polyjuice whenever he went out. It was nice to know that if something happened, and he was discovered in London, he would not be arrested and thrown into Azkaban.

Sometimes he was still compelled to check up on Potter, Hermione, and the various Weasley's involved in their lives. Lupin remained at Grimmauld Place, or at least he slept there. He was rarely home. George Weasley continued to bring witches to his flat, and Hermione continued her usual routine.

Severus found himself perturbed by her lack of ambition. What could there be to running a joke shop that satisfied her intellect? A witch capable of brewing Polyjuice Potion in a toilet as a second-year student, albeit a weak attempt, should be doing something more with her mind than helping Weasley sell novelty items.

For Merlin's sake, she had taught herself the basics of Mind Magic, and she seemed content to sit in an office and figure out the best way to sell toys. It was maddening.

Perhaps she was staying because of her feelings for Weasley. After all, hadn't Lily dulled her own brilliance to be with James Potter?

Eventually, Severus decided to intervene, but not himself. Instead, he wrote to Minerva, and among other things, asked whether Hermione Granger had been offered any further academic opportunities at Hogwarts after graduation. He was surprised to receive a reply that, among other things, revealed that Hermione had turned down the opportunity to continue her academic career.

One of the other things in Minerva's letter was the notification that Dumbledore had left something else for Severus, besides the memories. She sent him a package, which turned out to be a jewelry box fitted with an Undetectable Extension Charm. It was full of Galleons. Severus began to save money, making and selling more potions than ever. He continued to sell them in disguise to various Apothecaries. His plan was to open his own shop, a true Apothecary run by a Potions Master. His only reservation was whether anyone would shop there, knowing who made the potions.

He began to consider where he would set up shop. There were still a good number of empty storefronts in Diagon Alley, places that never reopened after the war. Hogsmeade was another option to consider. His reputation there might actually help business.

Severus began spending more time in Diagon Alley, trying to decide where he'd like to put an Apothecary. There were already two, but neither one did its own brewing anymore. Severus spent many days people-watching in disguise, observing the customers that frequented the Apothecaries and neighboring shops. He always began these days sitting with a cup of tea on the patio across from the joke shop.

George Weasley continued to entertain a variety of young witches, all of whom left in the mornings before the shop opened, sometimes after Hermione arrived, and sometimes before. Then, one day it suddenly stopped, and in the morning it was only George Weasley leaving his flat.


	19. Celebrations With Friends

**HERMIONE**

The celebration at Grimmauld Place after Snape's pardon went on into the early morning hours. Harry had invited more people than would comfortably fit in the house, a plan which Hermione had not known about. George came, and seemed to be having a good time even though he'd been avoiding parties and his family since Fred's death. Former classmates, Quidditch teammates, and Ministry Aurors filled the house. Hermione was glad she had not been able to convince Snape to show up.

Eventually, she disappeared into her bedroom and tried to read, but it was impossible, not only due to the noise of the party down below, but also because she'd had a few rather strong drinks and her mind kept wandering. She decided to rally and go back down with her friends. As she opened the door, she heard someone coming up the stairs.

“Hermione? What are you doing up here?” asked George.

“I just needed a break,” she said. “What are you doing up here?”

“I just needed the loo, and there's about five witches in line for the one downstairs,” he said, but instead of walking past her he stopped facing her in the narrow hall. He put his hand on the wall just above her head and leaned toward her.

“Don't go anywhere,” he said.

Hermione stood leaning against the wall as he disappeared into the loo at the end of the hall. A minute or two later, he reappeared, walked over, leaned against the wall beside her, and raised an eyebrow suggestively.

“Hello, friend,” he said. “Are you in the same mood as me?”

Hermione was, but she was not sure yet whether the idea of doing it here at Grimmauld Place while a party raged below was exciting or terrifying. Perhaps it was worth finding out. She leaned forward and kissed him, pulling him against her body. George pressed her further into the wall.

“Not out here,” Hermione said.

George continued kissing her, and put his hand on the handle of her bedroom door.

“Not there, either,” Hermione said, pulling away suddenly.

“Where, then?” he murmured.

“Come on,” Hermione said, taking his arm and leading him back into the loo.

“Aw... no, not in a loo,” he said.

“Shush, you,” Hermione said. She opened the window, and they climbed out onto the bit of roof that overlooked a small garden. She cast a Cushioning Charm, and they jumped down.

George looked around.

“Is there any other way out here?” he asked.

“No. It's something to do with the way the house was magically renovated in the past. Maybe one of the Black family wanted a secret garden,” Hermione said, shrugging.

“Can you see into the garden from inside?” George asked, pointing at the brightly lit windows above the overgrown hedges.

“Mmm... not really. You have to really be looking,” Hermione said.

“Well, let's hope nobody's looking,” George said, grabbing her waist and pulled her over to the side of the house, where creeping vines parted enough to expose some of the brick. It was pleasantly cool on her back, even if she could feel the rough edges scraping at her party dress.

Hermione allowed him to pull the straps off of her shoulders and arched her back to allow the dress to slide down over her bra and pool at her waist, but then she pressed her back firmly against the wall again. He knew she wouldn't let him undress her further and did not try. He lifted her further up the wall and added a helpful Weigh Displacement Charm before he pressed himself into her with a relieved groan.

“Is this okay? Your back...”   
  


Hermione was vaguely aware that the brick was now scraping against her bare skin, but she didn't mind the faint sting.

“It's good,” she breathed.

After a while, something happened inside the house that made everyone burst into wild laughter cut with shouting, and hearing the sound flood out into the garden above their heads brought Hermione suddenly to the brink. She stifled a moan. George seemed to be having hard time staying quiet as well. She playfully put a hand over his mouth. In response, he moved one hand from her waist and began to slide his thumb lightly over that sensitive spot...

In seconds, Hermione came loudly enough that he also covered her mouth with his hand. She could feel him smiling under her palm for a few seconds. He then closed his eyes and finished himself off.

He caught her as she removed the charm and set her on the ground.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Wait, your back...”

He touched the middle of her back before she could pull her dress back up and showed her light streaks of blood on his hand.

“You're all scratched up,” he said.

“I am? It can't be that bad,” Hermione said. “Here, just do a cleansing spell.”

She turned around and waited for him to perform the spell.

“Oh, bollocks. I'm sorry, Hermione,” he said. “I wish I knew the right healing spell for this.”

A cool burst of magic washed over her back, and Hermione pulled up her dress.

“George, it's fine. They're just scratches. Honestly, I can't even feel it,” she said.

She _could_ still feel the light stinging, but it was almost pleasant, like scratching an itch. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress and watched George put himself back together.

“So, ah... how do we get back inside?” he asked, looking up at the open bathroom window.

“Oh, there's a broomstick over there,” Hermione said.

She mounted it and rose up to the roof, shuddering at the sensation of flying on a broom, which she still hated. Then, she tossed the broom back down to George, who flew around the courtyard a few times showing off before he joined her on the roof.

He threw the broom back down into the garden and turned to her. He pushed on her shoulder and peeked at her back.

“Yeah, you're gonna want to soak that,” he said.

“I'll be fine,” she said. “I'll take a bath.”

He reluctantly let go of her and said, “Okay. I think I'm heading home.”

They snuck back in through the bathroom window and George left. Hermione decided she would take a bath right away and go to bed. The hot water did burn the scratches on her back. Hermione lay in the bath until the water cooled and the pain faded, then she cast a Warming Charm and sank back down to repeat the process.

When she finally emerged and prepared for bed, she found a hand mirror and examined her back. It did look red and angry, but the scratches were shallow. It wasn't worth wasting dittany. She put on a robe and went to bed.

Something changed after that night in the garden. For the next two weeks, George wasn't interested in the benefits part of their friendship. Then, one evening as they closed the store, he hugged her from behind as he pulled down the window shade on the front door. Hermione had done a lot of things with George, but hugging was not one of them. She stiffened.

“Come up to my place,” he said, loosening his hold on her.

It wasn't the first time he'd suggested they take their activities to his flat. Hermione always refused.

“No,” she said. “My office?”

He sighed and backed away.

“Hermione. We've been doing this for a while. Don't you want to be a little more comfortable?” he asked.

“Are you bored?” she asked.

“Not at all,” he said. “But I do think my, ah, skills shine brighter in a bedroom rather than an armchair.”

“I don't have any complaints,” Hermione said.

“All right. Forget it. Forget I said anything,” he said. “Let's go to your office.”

Hermione saw how disappointed he was and sighed. Maybe it was time to try.

“No, George. Let's go to your flat. I've never seen it, after all, which seems kind of silly,” she said.

She thought he might say no, but instead he said, “Brilliant.”

They went upstairs, locked the upstairs door behind them, and George led her into his flat. It was simply decorated, but not shabby. His bedroom was similar, and Hermione was surprised to find that as soon as she sat on the bed it became much larger.

“Nice work,” she said, lying down and stretching out across the massive mattress.

“Thanks.”

George stretched out beside her and propped his head up on one elbow. He looked at her and as the silence stretched on his smile stayed and his eyes grew more serious. Hermione rolled over on her side and kissed him, before the creeping anxiety she felt about being in his flat could ruin her mood.

He kissed her back, and it was different. Hermione didn't know if it was in her mind or if he was trying to be gentler than usual. She scooted closer and deepened the kiss, but George seemed determined to move slower this time. He broke away from her and pulled off his shirt, then looked at her expectantly.

Hermione touched his shoulder and urged him closer, kissed him again. He began to unbutton her blouse, and finally tossed it aside. Goosebumps rose on Hermione's arms. He stopped and rubbed her arms.

“All right?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

She nodded. He placed his palm over the cup of her bra, the slowly slid his hand around her back. Looking her in the eye, he touched the clasp of her bra, waited. Hermione's heart raced, but she smiled a little and kissed him. The clasp came undone in his hand and her bra fell down her arm, dangled from her elbow. She slipped her arm out of the strap, and the bra fell off completely.

Just as Hermione thought she was beginning to really enjoy herself, she looked down at her exposed breasts and something in her broke. She rolled away from him abruptly.

“What's wrong?”

“I'm sorry, George,” she said, picking up her bra. “I can't.”

“It's okay... tell me what's wrong,” he said.

“I can't,” she said, now putting on her blouse. “I don't know. I don't know.”

George got up and urged her to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I feel like something's changed,” she said. “After that night in the garden. Did it?”

He cocked his head at her.

“I don't know,” he said after a while. “Maybe it did.”

“Then we should stop doing this. We should just be friends. Regular friends.”

He shook his head and sighed.

“If that's what you want,” he said.

She nodded and her eyes began to water. Damn it, she was not going to cry. She stood up and finished buttoning her blouse.

“I don't want to hurt you,” she said.

He scoffed at that and said, “And I don't want to hurt you, but I feel like I already have.”

“Don't. You haven't,” she said.

She kissed him one more time, a chaste peck.

“Goodbye, friend,” she said. “I'll see you in the morning.”

That was the end of their friendly arrangement. To his credit, George did not treat her any differently afterward. After a while, Hermione realized that she had not seen George with any other witches for a couple of months. It took another month for them to address what happened that day in his flat.

It was New Years Eve, and the shop closed at lunch time. George ordered in for them and they ate in the shop after they closed up for the holiday.

“Well, Hermione, we've done pretty well this year, haven't we?” he asked. “When are you going to tell your friends you've been helping me invent charmed sex toys?”

“Never, George, never. I don't want any credit for it, just the money from the sales,” she said.

He smirked and said, “It's nothing to be ashamed of... I mean, my family would be plenty ashamed for me, but ask me if I care.”

“Are you sure you don't want to be my business partner?” he asked. “You really should be, you know.”

“I'll think about it,” she said.

“You keep saying that,” he said. He opened two more beers and handed her one.

“Cheers.”

Hermione drank with him and was the first to put her bottle down. When he did, he sighed.

“All right, Hermione. It's New Years Eve. Before I start working on my resolution, I have to know where we went wrong.”

She didn't know what to say.

“I scared you,” he said. “I think you got the wrong idea when I said something changed.”

“George...”

“Hold on, listen,” he said. “I know I have my own issues with... er, intimacy.”

He paused and drank most of his beer.

“But I wanted to help you with yours. I should have let it go. So... I'm sorry.”

Hermione nodded and said, “Thanks, but you don't have to apologize for anything.”

George finished his beer, and opened two more as Hermione finished hers.

“George, it's only lunch time,” she said, laughing.

“It's a holiday,” he said.

He ended up drinking most of her last bottle as well.

“Also, I just want you to know... you shouldn't be ashamed of your tits. They're great,” he said.

“George!” she exclaimed, giggling as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Erm, thank you, but I'm not ashamed of them.”

“Well. Good. Whenever you next meet someone, remember that,” he said.

“Okay, George,” she said, still laughing.

“It's New Years Eve. Shall I tell you my resolution?” George asked.

“Go ahead.”

“I'm going to stop bringing witches home until I figure out what's wrong with me. Maybe Ron was right when he told me sex isn't a hobby and it doesn't make me interesting.”

Hermione burst out laughing, and had to apologize.

“I'm sorry, but when did Ron say that?” she asked.

“Oh, on Halloween,” George said. “We were out at the pub, and he was jealous that no witches wanted to go home with him because all he wanted to talk about was Quidditch.”

“Oh, Merlin, it's true! All Ron talks about is Quidditch, even now,” Hermione said. “Will he ever change?”

George grinned and shook his head.

“Doubtful. Maybe he'll get lucky and one of Ginny's teammates will marry him,” he said. “So, what's your resolution, Hermione?”

Hermione never made New Year's resolutions, since normally her ongoing list of goals was ambitious enough on it's own. That had changed since the war.

“I hadn't really thought about it,” she said.

“Oh... all right,” said George. “That's fine, too.”

“No, give me moment. I'll think of something,” she said.

George spun the empty bottle slowly on the table while she pondered what she wanted to do with her year.

“I'd like to learn Wandless Magic,” she said at last.

George whistled.

“Is that a one-year kind of goal? Damn, I thought you'd say something like 'go on a real date' not _learn Wandless Magic_ ,” he said teasingly.

“You're right, if I'm able to learn it I'm going to need more than a year,” she said. “How about, 'start to learn Wandless Magic'?”

He laughed and said, “I'll allow it.”

They cleaned up their food and empty bottles, turned out all the lights, and Hermione put on her warm cloak, scarf, and hat.

“I'll see you tonight at Grimmauld Place?” she asked. Harry was hosting New Years Eve, which he promised was to be close friends and family only.

“Yeah, I'll be there,” George said.

Hermione knew he wasn't excited about seeing his entire family, who were invited. George had become the black sheep of the Weasley family, not only because of his refusal to find a nice witch and start a family, or his promiscuous ways, but because he hated talking about Fred. It seemed his parents couldn't manage to look at George without mentioning how much they missed his dead twin brother, even now.

“If you need a break from your family tonight, let me know. None of them know about the garden at Grimmauld Place. We can go have a drink and talk.”

“Thanks, Hermione. You're a good friend,” he said.

Hermione hugged him tightly.

“So are you,” she said. “Happy New Year.”


	20. Wandless Magic

George seemed to be sticking to his resolution. He began playing pickup Quidditch matches on weekends with a group of London witches and wizards, mostly low-level Ministry employees. During the week he would often stay late in the shop after Hermione went home, tinkering with projects and creating new challenges for himself to solve.

Hermione began work on her resolution by going to the library. She read everything she could find on the practice of Wandless Magic. There was not much to be found on the subject, unfortunately. She wondered if the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library might be more helpful. The collection of materials at Hogwarts had not been subject to the same scrutiny and curation by the Ministry over the past hundreds of years.

In search of better information, Hermione returned to Hogwarts for the first time since graduating. She waited until the Easter holiday so that there would be less students and staff around. McGonagall was thrilled when Hermione requested to visit the library.

When Hermione arrived at the castle gates, and waited for McGonagall to come let her in, she looked at the solemn iron-work and found it hard to catch her breath. The only thing that could bring her back to Hogwarts was the library. In truth, she had been dreading this moment for weeks.

“Miss Granger! It is lovely to see you,” said McGonagall, upon opening the gate and ushering Hermione inside.

Hermione asked about the Gryffindor team and the changes to the castle that had been made over the past year, but she barely heard the proud and detailed answers given by McGonagall as they made their way up to the castle. Finally, as they were within sight of the front doors, she fully returned her thoughts to the conversation.

“You know, I still have a place for you here, if you have any inclination to continue in academic research,” McGonagall said. “Hogwarts will always welcome you home, Miss Granger.”

Hermione tried to look pleased by that sentiment and said, “Thank you. I will consider it for next year.”

“I got a letter from Severus Snape not too long ago. He asked about you,” said McGonagall. “He wanted to make sure I offered the most promising mind to come out of Hogwarts in years a chance to return and pursue further study.”

“I had no idea Professor Snape thought so highly of me as a student,” Hermione said.

“We all did, Miss Granger,” she said. “The thing about Severus – which to be frank, did not make him at all suited to work with children – is that the more highly he thinks of a person, the less likely he is to praise them to their face.”

Hermione must have looked confused, because McGonagall laughed a little and said, “If you receive praise from Severus, it is either calculated flattery because he think you're a fool, or... it is because you have done something truly extraordinary.”

Severus Snape had not entered Hermione's thoughts for months. She'd felt she was truly moving on after his pardon. Perhaps it was only her anxiety about setting foot inside the castle again, as they were now doing, but a sort of sadness rose in her chest. It remained with her as she walked through the corridors of the school, and as McGonagall unlocked the library for her and gave her the password that would let her browse the Restricted Section.

She left a couple of hours later, having copied a few passages from a handful of texts, but she was frustrated with the results of her research. After paying Hagrid a visit, and walking down to Hogsmeade with him as her effusive escort, Hermione decided to grab a drink a the Hogs Head. Aberforth's grimy ambience was enough to deter most curious eyes and Hagrid had never payed much attention to the cleanliness of his drinking establishments.

“Well, 'Ermione, I've got to see Grawp soon, or else he'll come bumbling out of the forest looking fer me. That never turns out well.”

“It's all right Hagrid. The drink is on me,” she said, waving goodbye.

She watched Hagrid leave, and turned back around on her bar stool to consider whether she wanted another drink. It was then that a dark figure sitting in the corner booth caught her eye.

Snape was watching her with an impenetrable look on his face. He lifted his own mug to his mouth. Hermione felt compelled to slide off her stool and go speak to him. This was the first time she had seen him in public, if the Hogs Head could be called 'in public'. How had he slipped into the bar without Hagrid noticing? Without Hermione noticing? There had been nobody inside when they arrived, she was certain.

“Did you know I was going to be at the school today?” she asked.

Perhaps McGonagall had told him, since it seemed they were pen pals now.

“I did not,” he said, and gestured for her to join him.

After a moment's hesitation, she sat down across from him.

“Why _are_ you in Hogsmeade?” he asked.

“I was at the castle,” she said. “Er, in the library. Doing some research.”

“Research?” he said.

“Yes.”

Hermione waited for him to ask her what she was researching, but he simply lifted his mug again. The thought that Hermione had been avoiding for weeks was now impossible to ignore.

“I want to learn Wandless Magic,” she said, offering up the answer to the question he didn't seem bothered to ask.

His eyes flicked to her hands, which were folded on the table in front of her, as if to judge whether her hands were capable of such a feat.

“That is a lofty ambition,” he said.

“I know.”

“How is the research going?” he asked, and Hermione could hear the smirk on his face before she saw it appear. He knew she'd found nothing useful.

“Terribly,” she said. “I don't suppose you know where I could find more helpful materials?”

“No,” he said.

He put his mug down and folded his hands on the table as well, leaning forward.

“As far as I know, the only way to learn Wandless Magic is by finding someone who can teach you. For many years, it was illegal to publish a text on the subject. It may still be so – I do not know,” he said.

“Why is it illegal?” Hermione asked.

“Because it is unpredictable and therefore too dangerous for the average wizard to practice,” he said. “It is not a sanctioned use of magic.”

“But Dumbledore...”

Hermione stopped speaking at the look Snape was giving her.

“Dumbledore did a lot of things only Dumbledore could get away with doing,” Snape said.

“But you...”

“Do not advertise the fact,” he interrupted.

Hermione sighed in disappointment. They sat in silence, both waiting for the other to suggest the obvious answer to Hermione's dilemma.

“Would you...?” she asked at last.

He simply stared at her and waited.

“Would you teach me Wandless Magic?” she asked.

More bloody staring.

“I don't know anyone else who has the ability,” she admitted.

A smile. It made him look younger. Hermione noticed that he seemed to be taking better care of himself. His pitch black hair was a little shorter and neatly trimmed, styled as if the length was purposeful and not from neglect. His face was no longer sallow and gaunt.

“I have not spent the past months since my pardon hiding in cave. I'm rather busy at the moment,” he said.

“Oh...”

“However, in a few month's time I may be able to help you,” he said. “Are you prepared to pay for these lessons?”

“Oh – er – yes...” Hermione said. “What is your rate?”

She had not considered that he'd want money in exchange for the lessons, but why wouldn't he? It's not like he was one of her friends.

“We can work out the details when the time comes,” he said.

Hermione nodded.

“All right. Can I owl you?” she asked.

“I'll contact you when I'm available,” he said.

Hermione wondered whether her owl would find him, if she sent one anyway. He must not be Untraceable anymore, if McGonagall was in contact with him.

“Great,” she said. “Ah, thank you.”

He leaned back and folded his arms.

“I haven't agreed to it yet,” he said.

“Well. Thanks for considering it,” she replied. “Can I ask what you're working on that's keeping you so busy? Is it a new potion?”

That smile again, so strange to see on his face, even though it was small.

“You shall find out soon enough,” he said.

With that he stood up.

“Do not pester me about Wandless Magic. I'll let you know when I'm ready to see you,” he said.

Then he left and Hermione was alone in the Hog's Head Tavern. She did not have anything else to drink. She went straight home and sat flipping through the texts she'd borrowed from the library, hoping to learn something on her own before her next meeting with Snape.

It took her a while to work up the nerve, but she did eventually tell George about that day at Hogwarts. She didn't dare say anything to Harry, Ginny, or Ron. After all, Snape might still refuse to teach her.

One morning before any customers were in the shop, Hermione said, “So, I've been researching Wandless Magic.”

“Of course you have, that's what you do,” George replied. “How is it going?”

“As it turns out, there's nothing useful written about Wandless Magic, because it's been illegal to do so for hundreds of years,” she said.

“So, you won't be finding anything in a regular library, then,” George guessed. “Have you considered raiding some old Death Eater's manor?”

“I imagine all of that has either been confiscated or taken into hiding by the families who fled the country,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, you're probably right,” said George. “I know Hermione Granger isn't going to give up. So, what now?”

“Well...”

Hermione recounted what happened the day she went to Hogwarts in search of answers and ran into Snape.

“I wonder what the old dungeon bat is up to,” he said. “You might be the first person to see him out of hiding, Hermione. Does he still look like a starving vampire?”

Hermione did not tell George that she had seen Snape multiple times in the past year.

“George!”   
  
“What? That's exactly what he looked like and you know it!”

“He looked well, and not at all like the undead,” Hermione said.

Hermione was distracted from the wait for an owl from Snape by Harry and Ginny's engagement. Harry proposed at the beginning of May, so it was also a welcome distraction from the anniversary of the battle of Hogwarts. For many people, it was a joyous date. For the Weasleys and Remus it was a day of deepest grief. The joke shop was closed, and George did not leave his flat. Hermione spent the day at home, in the quiet of Grimmauld Place with only Remus for company.

Harry, Ginny, and Ron were at Hogwarts. There was a standing invitation to the annual memorial feast to all who fought in the battle, but Hermione could not bring herself to go. Instead, she cooked a dinner for herself and Remus and they sat picking at it together. She wished she could have gotten George to join them, but she knew better than ask. This was the one day a year he allowed himself to think of Fred and he always did it alone.

“Thank you for cooking, Hermione,” Remus said, even though he had barely touched his meal. “You really didn't have to stay behind with me. I'll be okay.”

“I couldn't go, either,” Hermione said. “I still hate being in the castle.”

“It is a shame that a battle has ruined the memory of Hogwarts for some of us,” Remus said. “It is a wonderful place, for all it's flaws.”

“Harry still loves it as much as ever,” Hermione remarked.

Remus nodded.

“Hogwarts was Harry's first real home, at least the only one he can remember,” he said. “I doubt his love for the castle will ever be broken.”

“It was my first magical home,” she said. “I do love Hogwarts, but whenever I'm there I'm just reminded of how hard those last few years were as Voldemort took over, being one of the few Muggle-born students, and then later making sure the three of us weren't caught while on the run looking for the horcruxes. Trying to keep the peace between the boys. Making sure we didn't starve or freeze to death. It was... so much responsibility. I feel bad for saying that, because Harry was the 'Chosen One' and that's so much worse.”

Remus studied Hermione and then said, “You have every right to feel the weight of that immense burden. Harry had his anger and vow to avenge his parents to help him meet his destiny in that prophecy, but you chose to take the role of a protector and guide him through it. Don't belittle what you sacrificed, Hermione.”

Hermione shed a couple of tears at his words, and wiped them away.

“Have you thought about asking Severus to help you bring back your parents?” Remus asked. “I remember we spoke about that long before he was pardoned.”

Hermione had not thought about it, and a wave of guilt hit her. She rarely thought about her parents at all, after years of practice putting those thoughts aside, deep in the recesses of her mind.

“One day, I'll ask him,” she said. “I can't do it yet.”

Remus studied her and then said, “Would you like me to ask for you? He's replied to my owls a few times now.”

“No,” Hermione said. “When I'm ready, I'll ask myself... but thank you for offering.”

A few weeks later, Harry and Ginny announced that they were moving out of Grimmauld Place. Harry had purchased a home in the country, not too far from the Burrow. The bigger surprise came a few weeks later, when Harry sat Hermione down and informed her that she was to be the new owner of Grimmauld Place.

“What? Harry, you can't just give me a house!” Hermione exclaimed.

“I can, and I am,” Harry said. “Without you I never would have made it through the war. You almost died for me so many times. You were captured by Voldemort and tortured because of me. So I think I can bloody well give you a creepy old house if I feel like it!”

“Harry, you could sell it and save the money for your kids,” Hermione said.

“I don't want to, and I don't need to,” Harry said. “I have loads of money. It's embarrassing how much money I have.”

Hermione laughed.

“Look, if you want to sell it and get another place, go ahead,” Harry said. “I don't need this house to remember Sirius.”

Soon it was just Hermione and Remus in the house, and when he was visiting Teddy it was just Hermione. Harry had made her promise to host their usual holiday and birthday parties, now that she was the only one living in London. George sometimes came over for a drink with Hermione and Remus in the evenings, now that he'd stopped going out to pick up witches. Hermione was impressed with his dedication to his resolution for the year.

Neville and Luna became more frequent visitors as well. Neville's greenhouse was thriving and Luna, who had disappeared for a year or so, announced that she would be publishing her first novel in the fall. She described it as 'a mythic romance'.

One evening, George left early saying he had something to do back at the flat, leaving Hermione and Luna with a bottle of wine to finish.

“It must be hard working with George,” Luna remarked.

“Why do you say that?” Hermione asked.

“Isn't he your ex?” Luna asked, pouring herself more wine.

“Er – no, we're just good friends,” Hermione said, laughing nervously.

Luna's large pale eyes rose slowly from her wine glass to meet Hermione's.

“Really?”

Not for the first time, Hermione wondered if Luna was actually a Seer of some kind. Luna lowered her eyes back down to her glass, swirled it lightly, and then tipped it to her lips.

“I think there's something unique between you, maybe you should be more than friends,” Luna said.

Hermione tried not to smile at Luna's observation.

“No, I couldn't date George,” she said. “That would never work.”

“You don't think so? Why?” Luna asked. “Is it because of Ron?”

“Ah... yes, that's it,” Hermione said, shrugging. “It would be weird because I dated Ron.”

“But you and Ron, were you ever really together?” Luna asked. “You spent a lot of time avoiding him our last year at school.”

“It's complicated, Luna.”

“Mmm... yes, these things usually are,” she said, as if she was some kind of relationship expert.

“What about you? How was your date with Neville?” Hermione asked.

“Wonderful,” Luna said dreamily.

She did not elaborate, but got a distant look in her eyes as she held her wine glass in front of her face.

“People can surprise you,” Luna said. “Maybe you should talk to George about being more than friends.”

Hermione wanted to laugh but she managed to hold it in and smile at Luna instead.

“You might be on to something, Luna,” she said, her smile growing a bit wider.

Luna was not the only one who noticed how comfortable Hermione and George had become as friends. Remus remarked one evening that if he didn't know better, he'd guess George Weasley had moved in to Grimmauld Place.

“That's not a complaint,” he assured Hermione. “I think George might be my favorite Weasley of the bunch. Don't tell Ginny I said that.”

Hermione did not know if it was the sudden insistence of those around her that she should be dating George, or her own feelings finally coming to the surface, but she began to wonder. And she began to wonder if George was wondering the same thing.


	21. The Apothecary

Hermione did not have to wonder long. A few weeks later, instead of coming to Grimmauld Place after work on a Friday evening, George told her he wanted to go out.

“Oh?” she asked, her heart immediately beginning to thump faster against her ribs.

“Yeah. I don't know if I should be doing this, it's probably too soon,” George said.

Hermione wasn't sure what he meant by that – it had been half a year since they were anything other than friends.

“It's not too soon,” she reassured him.

“I just feel like it's now or never,” George said, pacing around behind the store counter. “But I haven't been on a date in so long. Have I ever been on a proper date?”

“A proper date?” Hermione asked, smiling at the thought.

“Shite... yes! That's what I was trying to tell you,” he said. “I have a date. I'm actually nervous about it, if you haven't caught on.”

Hermione frowned, realizing at once that they were not talking about the same date.

“Ah, with who?” she managed to ask.

He stopped pacing and looked at her. Hermione could see some panic in his eyes.

“With Angelina,” he said. “Ever since Harry's New Year's party, she's been asking me to come out with her and her friends, but I wouldn't. Then, she started coming to watch me play Quidditch with the local group, and made everyone upset because a 'real Quidditch player' was sitting there giving me tips from the sidelines.”

He chuckled fondly.

“Anyway, we've had some good talks after the matches, and now she's asked me on a proper date. I've done pretty well by my resolution, but I think it's time to break it. Angelina is not a patient witch,” he said.

“George...” Hermione stared at his face, which was animated in a way she had not seen since before Fred's death. “That's wonderful.”

Hermione thought she was indifferent to George's news, but when she got home and went to change out of her work clothes, she ended up sitting on her bed staring blankly at the wall. She felt suddenly, terrifyingly alone. George was in love with Angelina already. He'd never acted like this before with any witch.

She did know what to do with herself or the feelings that suddenly overwhelmed her. How stupid could a witch be? Of course Hermione loved George, she just could not bring herself to desire a relationship with proper dates and deep conversations and sex in a bed like a normal person. It made her feel sick to imagine it, even with George – funny, supportive, good-hearted George who didn't want to hurt her.

Sobbing, Hermione lay on her bed with her face in her pillows. She was happy for George. He had figured out how to move on at last. Hermione yearned for the healing he had found by simply not fucking around for six months. It would not be that easy for her. Perhaps she would be alone forever. Hermione sat up and sighed unhappily. She dried her tears.

She could do it. If anyone could learn to be happy alone, it was Hermione, who often preferred the company of books to that of people. She had Crookshanks, and she could get him a few pet siblings. Hagrid seemed to be doing just fine on his own with his wild menagerie of magical creatures for company. McGonagall was satisfied with a life dedicated to the education of young witches and wizards. Snape was...

Hermione stopped as she went through the mental list of all the perpetually single folk she knew. Was Snape happy alone? Probably not at all. He'd spent most of his life atoning for decisions he made as a depressed teen in the throes of unrequited love. Hermione supposed that destroying one's life over a lost chance at love and then learning that you were also responsible for that person's death, might make being alone forever seem like the best choice.

Two days later, Hermione received an owl informing her that Snape was ready to discuss the lessons in Wandless Magic. He gave her an address in Diagon Alley, at the far end of the street on which the joke shop sat. Hermione rarely went all the way down there, but she did not think there were any cafes or pubs in that area. He wanted to meet Monday at one o'clock. That shouldn't be a problem, since it was the time she normally took lunch.

Hermione did not see George until Monday morning. He was already working in the back room when she arrived.

“Good morning, George,” she called as she entered the shop.

He appeared in the doorway of the storage room holding an armful of boxes.

“Good morning,” he said, making his way to the adult section of the shop to find a place for a few new items.

Hermione followed him.

“Well? How was your date?” she asked, perhaps a little too brightly.

George slid a few things aside on the shelf in front of him, kneeling to reach the items that were farther back.

“My date...” he said, pausing to pop the new items in the empty space he'd just created, then hopping up to his feet in one movement.

“... was fantastic,” he said.

He began whistling what Hermione knew to be a bawdy wizard tune as he began moving things around on another shelf at eye level.

“Where did you go?” Hermione asked, wondering why she was torturing herself.

“We went to dinner at The Tipsy Trollop,” he said. “The show was good, the food was good, but wait, it gets better!”

George grinned to himself as he worked.

“Then, we went on a walk,” he said.

Hermione waited for him to say more, but he didn't. He finished his task and looked at Hermione.

“We walked through Muggle London for hours,” he said. “That's it.”

His smile was infectious, and even though her stomach was sinking into her feet, Hermione smiled back.

“George, you're glowing,” she teased.

“It feels good, Hermione,” he said. “It feels like this time something is different.”

Hermione nodded.

“That's... that's great,” she said. “Ah, I'll just go get some more of those. It looks like there's enough space.”

She hurried away to the storage room and kept herself busy enough to push away the hurt feelings trying to make themselves known. When she came back, George was whistling again as he dusted the room.

“By the way, I'm going out for lunch today,” she said. “My usual time, if that's all right.”

“Why wouldn't it be?” George asked pleasantly. “Who is it today? Harry? Luna?”

“Actually...” Hermione laughed. “It's Severus Snape.”

George stopped dusting and looked at her.

“You didn't tell me about this development. He's decided to help you?” he asked.

“I only got his owl yesterday,” Hermione said. “And I hope so. If he was going to refuse to teach me he could have done that in a letter.”

“Well... good luck,” George said. “You'll need it once the lessons start.”

The hours passed slowly, and it didn't help that business was slow that day. George took his lunch at noon. He returned with Angelina, who greeted Hermione warmly. As Hermione left to go meet Snape, George began showing Angelina around the shop.

It was a fine day, warm and breezy. Hermione enjoyed her walk through Diagon Alley, and had to remind herself not to waste any time on her way. As she walked, the storefronts became less ostentatious. Some were still boarded up, out of business since the war. Their neighbors were shabby and in need of a fresh coat of paint. Hermione stopped and looked around. Just ahead was her destination, on the corner, but it did not appear to be open. It was a two-story stone building with dark, muted green awnings. She checked both sides of the building, and did not see any signs designating the name of the shop. She frowned. Was this some kind of joke? Snape didn't joke, did he?

“You're late,” he said, from somewhere behind her.

Hermione whipped her head around and saw Snape standing in the middle of the street with his arms folded in front of him.

“Is this it?” she asked. “It's not open!”

“Not yet,” he said.

He walked past her, straight up to the nondescript door on the corner, and unlocked it. Hermione stared in surprise as he looked back at her.

“Are you going to stand there gaping at me forever, or shall we go in?” he asked.

Hermione followed him inside without a word.

“ _You_ own this place?” she asked.

“I _do_.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Soon, it is going to be an Apothecary,” he said, gesturing at the empty shelves and bins around them.

“You're opening an Apothecary,” Hermione said, as it finally fell into place in her mind. “That's a great idea. We could use a Potions Master in Diagon Alley.”

It didn't look like he was anywhere close to opening the shop. Hermione began to doubt that she would be learning Wandless Magic soon. Snape sat down on a barstool at the counter. It looked like the shop might have been a bar or a nightclub in the past. The dark, wood-paneled walls looked worn but clean, much like everything else in the room. Hermione sat down on the stool beside him and leaned on the bar. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had been under the impression they were having lunch.

“I thought we'd be grabbing lunch while we talk,” she said.

Snape waved his hand lazily and after a few seconds of thunking and rattling, two bottles and a plate of bread, cheese, and some kind of cured sliced meat rose from below the bar.

“Is this satisfactory?” he asked, smirking.

Hermione nodded, impressed by the magic, even though he was showing off. He opened their bottles and began to drink from his.

“I had planned to wait until I opened the Apothecary before I contacted you,” he said. “However, there have been some unexpected delays, and I find myself waiting on the convenience of others before the doors can open.”

Hermione nodded, her mouth full of food already. She was starving.

“So, I have time on my hands,” he said. “If you would like to start this week I am available.”

After washing her food down with a swig from her bottle, Hermione said, “I'd love to start this week. Right after work? Here?”

She tried not to sound too eager, but she was excited. Learning Wandless Magic would be just the thing to help her get over George. The timing was perfect.

“Not here,” he said. “You'll come to my residence. You have been there twice before.”

“I'm to just... Apparate into that same room?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes,” he said. “If that is acceptable to you.”

“We could meet at Grimmauld Place,” Hermione said. “It's just Remus and I living there now. He often goes to have dinner with Andromeda and Teddy after work anyway so he wouldn't even be home.”

He seemed to consider it for a moment, but then said, “Until this Apothecary is up and running, I do not care to be seen near Grimmauld Place or take any risk of running into Harry Potter. Have you told him about this meeting?”

“No. I've only told George, and he won't say anything.”

“You're sure?” he asked.

Hermione did not understand why he required so much secrecy, but perhaps he just really valued his privacy.

“Of course,” she said. “But I'll ask him to keep it to himself, if it makes you feel better.”

“Forgive me if I don't trust your lover as easily as you do,” Snape said.

He broke off a piece of bread and ate it. Hermione felt her face flush.

“That's an bold assumption to make,” she said. “George is only a friend and business partner.”

“I see,” said Snape. He drank again from his bottle. “I apologize. Remus has mentioned that George Weasley regularly spends evenings in your company at Grimmauld Place.”

Hermione ate some more and continued to feel a strange combination of embarrassment and despair.

“Well. We're just friends,” she said, and nearly laughed over the absurdity of defending herself to Snape, of all people. Thankfully, Harry and Ginny were too distracted with their engagement and new home to come around making assumptions about herself and George as well. It would seem everyone she knew was going to bring it up now that George was falling for someone else.

“All right. I'll come to your house,” Hermione said, trying to not think about the fact that it would certainly remind her of the year of her life that she wanted desperately to forget.

“How often?” she asked.

“As often as you like, until I am able to continue my work here,” he said.

“Do you have any idea when that will be?” Hermione asked.

“No. Likely a few weeks. Possibly a few months,” he said.

Hermione planned to throw herself full force into learning Wandless Magic – and as with anything she wanted to learn it as quickly as possible. However, it would probably not be wise to show up at Snape's house every day.

“Er – how about twice a week?” she asked. “Tuesdays and Thursdays?”

She reflected while she waited for him to reply.

“How long do you think it will take?” she asked.

“ _If_ you turn out to be capable of controlling your Wandless Magic, you will spend the rest of your life learning,” he said. “However, in order to reach the point that you no longer need my assistance you'll likely require a few months of hard work.”

Hermione wanted to bet him that it would be less, but she didn't dare.

“Yes, even for you,” he said, as if able to read her mind. “It is not as simple as following directions and achieving a predetermined outcome, as with most spells cast by a wand.”

A little thrill ran through her and Hermione wanted to skip the rest of her work day and begin her lessons right then and there – which reminded her of the time.

“I should be getting back to the shop soon,” she said. “Shall I come for the first lesson tomorrow evening? Ah, we haven't discussed payment. What is your rate?”

He smirked and said, “Tomorrow we shall see if you have a chance at learning Wandless Magic first. Then we'll discuss payment.”

“Fine. I'll see you tomorrow, then,” she said.

She slipped off of her stool and looked around for a bin, holding her empty bottle.

“Leave it,” he said, gesturing to the bar.

He got up and walked out of the shop with her. An old witch wearing an enormous black hat walked by and stared at them, then stared at the storefront in confusion. She hurried away when she caught sight of Snape glaring at her.

“Ah... goodbye,” Hermione said awkwardly, and left him surveying the deserted street.


	22. Overachiever

Angelina was still in the shop when Hermione returned. George stood on the narrow steps that led to the adult section, holding the curtain back, talking to Angelina who was perusing the merchandise.

“Hello, Hermione,” he said rather loudly, grinning as he let the curtain fall back into place.

He hopped down the steps and said, “How did it go?”

“Tomorrow is my first lesson,” Hermione said. “But please, George... don't tell _anyone_ about it. I said I'd keep it a secret.”

“Cross my heart,” he said. “Secret's safe with me.”

He winked at Hermione as Angelina came out from behind the curtain.

“George? Oh, hey, Hermione. Is your lunch break over already? I have to go! I'm going to be late for practice,” she said.

George walked her out of the shop and Hermione went to up to her office. She sat down at her desk and sighed heavily. Yes, it would be good to have a distraction from George and Angelina's blossoming romance. He came back inside and appeared in the doorway.

“All right, tell me what the old git said.”

“Well, it turns out the address he gave me was for an empty shop, which he is going to open as an Apothecary,” Hermione said.

“Hmm... I suppose that would be a better profession for him than teaching,” George remarked.

Hermione nodded.

“Are you happy about the lessons?” George asked. “You seem a little down, Hermione.”

“I suppose I'm just nervous,” she said. “He doesn't seem to think I'll be able to learn it.”

“That's just Snape for you,” George said. He walked up to her desk and sat on the edge. “Don't take it personally. I imagine one day you'll be better than he is at Wandless Magic.”

Hermione laughed and said, “Wouldn't that be fun?”

“Well,” George tapped her desk with his knuckles. “I'm going to make us a new sign for the front window display. Something even flashier, I think.”

Hermione spent the rest of the day on paperwork. She hated leaving it for the end of the week. Finally, hours later, Monday was over. Hermione went home to Grimmauld Place and found it empty for dinner, which was not unusual anymore. Crookshanks greeted her by running down the stairs, trilling all the way. She picked him up and held him over her shoulder, laying her cheek on his fluffy orange fur.

Remus arrived late that evening, as Hermione was finishing her latest book and preparing to go to bed. He had the look about him that told Hermione the full moon was coming soon – deep circles under his eyes from insomnia, a restless expression in his eyes, and a short temper. He would be around the house more for the rest of the week. He hated being around Teddy when he was like this and Hermione could understand.

“Goodnight,” she said, standing on the second stair with her closed book in her hand.

Remus was sitting with a drink, which he had poured immediately upon arriving home. Slowly, he seemed to hear her, and his eyes moved to her face.

“Goodnight, Hermione,” he said, raising his glass. “Sorry I've come in so late. I hope you weren't waiting up for me.”

“I was finishing my book,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“I'll be fine,” he said. “I'm always fine in the end, aren't I?”

Hermione knew he was just deep in the depressive stage of the cycle that ruled his life, but she always worried about Remus. It was a shame that the Wolfsbane Potion did not do much to help with the depression that preceded a transformation. For other werewolves, perhaps it was not a problem, since they lived life apart from normal magical society, where the daily stigma of their lycanthropy was gone. For Remus, though, the anticipation of each and every transformation was a mental agony.

The next day, George was back to his usual self, and Angelina did not show up in the shop, for which Hermione was thankful. After an uneventful day, he wished her luck before she left to see Snape. Hermione left and went around to the alley to Disapparate. One deep breath, and she pictured the room in Snape's house. Then, she was standing there, alone.

“Hello?” she said.

The door to the room opened, and Snape looked at her.

“Good evening,” he said.

Hermione repeated the sentiment and waited.

“We shall work downstairs. Follow me,” he said.

He led her out of the room through a short hallway to a narrow landing, and then down a set of creaky stairs with a worn wooden banister. They entered a modest sitting room, that looked like it had been decorated half a century earlier and left unchanged – dingy wallpaper and worn furniture that were unfussy and plain. The only thing in the room that appeared to belong to Snape were the many bookshelves lining the walls, filled with both Muggle and Magical books.

Snape stopped and gestured to the gray sofa in front of them.

“Have a seat,” he said.

He waited for her to be seated, then joined her on the opposite end of the sofa.

“Very well. Hold your hands out with your palms facing down,” Snape said, without ceremony.

Hermione did.

“Close your eyes.”

Hermione did and waited. After a minute, she heard the rustle of fabric as he moved slightly in his spot on the sofa. It was so quiet in the room that Hermione could hear his breaths in between the ticking of a clock.

“Wandless Magic must only be practiced with the utmost control,” he said. “I shall demonstrate the first exercise you will attempt.”

After a while, Hermione began to feel warmth growing under her open, outstretched hands. Her eyes fluttered, but before she could open them fully, he said, “Eyes closed.”

The warmth became heat, as if he was holding a flame under her palms, and then her hands floated upward, pushed by magic, until she pulled them back and flexed her fingers as they cooled off quickly.

“That was the first half of the exercise,” he said. “Now, the rest... hold your hands out again. Keep your eyes shut.”

She raised her arms again. This time instead of warmth it was seeping cold that met her palms, and after a minute her hands were drawn downward a few inches. They stopped gently when they met Snape's own open palms. He quickly pulled his hands away. Hermione waited.

“You can open your eyes now,” he said.

She did and stared at him, waiting for him to explain how she was meant to do the exercise.

“This is the most basic way to control magic without a wand,” he said. “Warmth to push, cold to pull. You will practice alternating between the two.”

“How?” Hermione asked.

“Your hands are your wand. To begin, concentrate only on the heat or the cold you wish to gather in your own hands. Focus the intent of your magic through your palms.”

Hermione nodded, even though she hadn't the foggiest idea of how to focus magic through her palms. When she used a wand, it was like holding a lightning rod – magic jumped to the tip of it with barely a thought. The idea of magic jumping out through her open hands with the same eager jolt was terrifying.

“Are you ready to try it?” he asked.

Hermione nodded and asked, “Do I have to close my eyes?”

“It does help in the beginning,” he said.

He held his hands out just as she had done, with palms facing upward. Hermione was beginning to understand why he did not want to risk having an audience for their lessons. She held her hands out over his and closed her eyes.

“Start by recalling the sensation of warmth you experienced when I performed the exercise,” he intoned, his voice calm and even, as if he was trying to lead her into a trance.

“Okay,” Hermione said.

She fell silent and concentrated on her palms, and the slow build of warmth she wanted to create. Nothing happened for quite a while, and Hermione had to consciously ignore the ticking clock that reminded her how much time was passing in the silence. She wondered if Snape had his eyes closed or if he was staring at her.

“Focus your mind and your magic,” he said. “The only thought in your head must be of getting your magic to flow into your hands.”

Hermione was finally able to use some of the meditation experience she had with Mind Magic to put aside the sounds and thoughts that were distracting her. Her mind and hands became one... now all she needed was her magic to join them and make a trinity. She imagined the warmth from Snape's hands in her palms again, how it grew hot before pushing her hands away.

As she concentrated on that memory, she suddenly felt it – her palms were warm, hot even. She didn't dare open her eyes until he said something. Hermione's lap warmed as well, as she continued to send her thoughts and her magic to her palms.

“Open your eyes,” he said.

As she did and her mind came back to the room in which they sat, she drew a shaky, surprised breath. Two tiny flames danced below her palms. Slowly, Snape placed his hands over her wrists and turned her hands over so that the flames danced merrily a few inches above her palms. In the next instant they disappeared.

“Always an overachiever, to a fault,” he said.

He pulled her hands toward him and seemed to be checking for burns.

“Maybe I should have started with the cold,” Hermione said.

He let go of her and said, “Perhaps. Try it now, but don't get carried away and give yourself frostbite.”

This time it took Hermione much longer to make anything happen, but after many minutes it began to feel as if she was holding her hands over a block of ice.

“Good,” said Snape.

Hermione opened her eyes and saw him rubbing his hands together to warm them. She did the same. 'Good' might be the highest praise he'd ever given her.

“Try it again. This time, without the fire,” he said.

Hermione was able to successfully warm the air between their hands just as Snape had done the second time.

“You will practice on your own before our next meeting,” he said, shifting his legs as he prepared to stand up.

“Wait, is that all you're going to show me tonight?” Hermione asked.

“That is all for now,” he said, standing and looking down his long nose at her.

“Oh,” was all Hermione could say, disappointed.

“It is important that this most basic exercise becomes second nature before you move on to more advanced techniques. You should be able to produce it without hesitation, fully controlled.”

Hermione nodded.

“I'll practice... and I'll see you next on Thursday?” she asked.

“That was our agreement,” he said.

Hermione reached into her pocket.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked, locating the Galleons she had brought with her.

He stifled a tiny smirk and said, “Put your money away, Hermione. I'll not be accepting payment for these lessons.”

“Oh... ah, thank you,” she said.

“However, I might ask for a favor in return one day,” he said.

Hermione was not sure how she felt about that and asked, “What do you have in mind?”

He sat down again.

“What did you earn on your Potions N.E.W.T.?” he asked.

“Outstanding,” Hermione said.

He nodded and for the second time that evening said, “Good.”

“Do you need help brewing a potion?” Hermione wondered.

“Not at this time,” he said.

Hermione's curiosity was peaked, but she did not question him further.

“You may Apparate home from the upstairs room,” he said, standing once again and waiting for her to do the same.

He followed her up the stairs and stood in the doorway of the dark empty room, a dim silhouette in the lamplight from the landing behind him.

“Goodnight,” Hermione said, before Disapparating.

Remus was at Grimmauld Place cooking dinner when Hermione arrived.

“I made enough for both of us,” he said, when she walked into the kitchen. “Have you eaten yet?”

“I haven't, and I'm starving,” said Hermione. “Thank you, Remus.”

They sat down to eat and Remus ate silently. Moodily. After a while he spoke.

“Did you, ah, work late again?” he asked.

“Erm, yes,” Hermione said.

Remus nodded.

“You know, Friday is the next full moon,” he said.

“I know.”

They had an agreement that no guests were invited while Remus was locked in his room, sleeping off his transformation at Grimmauld Place. Even George had never been around for it.


	23. A New Challenge

By Thursday, Hermione had practiced her Wandless Magic exercise too many times to count. It wasn't second nature yet, but she could do it within seconds, even as her thoughts began to wander. On Wednesday night she practiced before bed, and fell asleep feeling proud of her progress.

That morning before she woke, Hermione even dreamed about practicing those exercises. Then, the dream wandered in another direction:

_Hermione walked down to the room where they'd had the first lesson, and found Snape sitting on the sofa. This time, Hermione performed the first part perfectly, but when it came time to cool the air between their hands, she accidentally went too far and froze her fingertips. Watching in horror as they became coated with frost and began to tingle painfully, Hermione could not reverse the magic. Snape cupped his hands around hers and as she stared into his eyes she regained control of her magic. The cold dissipated and Snape's hands began to warm hers back up. She felt his magic heal her injured fingertips. In response, Hermione leaned forward and kissed him. He touched the side of her face with a warm palm and looked at her._

Hermione woke up as he opened his mouth to speak. Her hands were tingling, she was hot, and her cheek was sweaty from lying on her pillow. Sunlight streamed into her bedroom, warming it considerably more than usual for a London morning. She sat up, damp strands of hair sticking to her neck and face.

Perhaps most disturbing was the thought that she wanted to go back to sleep to finish the dream. Instead, she took a cold shower. Work that morning was miserable. Hermione's shower had not had the intended effect and every time she looked at George she was reminded of what might have been if she'd done things differently.

It became necessary to employ some Occlumency techniques before she went to her lesson with Snape. She didn't know enough about Legilimency to understand how, but he always seemed to know what she was thinking. It would not do to be thinking of that dream.

When Hermione Apparated to the tiny room the door was open already. Snape was nowhere to be seen. Hermione wandered out to the landing.

“Hello, I'm here,” she called from the top of the stairs, before descending.

He was standing next to one of the bookshelves that lined the room, holding a text that he must have been reading as he waited for her to arrive.

“Good evening,” he said.

“Good evening, Professor,” she said.

He scoffed and said, “I am not a professor anymore.”

She supposed that was true.

“You may use my name,” he said, looking as if he was not happy about it.

“All right,” Hermione said, doubting that she ever would.

He replaced his book on the shelf.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Our lesson will take longer this evening. It will be easier to remain focused after a meal.”

“I... could eat,” Hermione said.

He turned and walked away. When Hermione did not immediately follow, he stopped and peered back into the room.

“The kitchen is this way,” he said.

She went after him, an unidentifiable feeling bubbling into her thoughts. Anticipation of an unknown – who was he really? Did anyone know?

When they got to the kitchen, which was poorly lit and cramped, but clean, Hermione saw a bag of takeout sitting on a counter, and it just so happened to be from her favorite Muggle shop not too far from Grimmauld Place.

“Is that from Porky's?” she asked. “You know about Porky's?!”

“I've told you before that I grew up among Muggles,” he reminded her.

Hermione laughed and said, “It's just that it's my favorite takeout.”

He smiled very slightly and began taking cartons of food out of the bag. A few flicks of his fingers at the cabinets, and two plates flew over to settle themselves on the table.

Show off, Hermione wanted to say, as utensils followed. Hermione sat down at the table and Severus joined her seconds later with the food. He placed the containers in front of her and waited for her to fill her plate first.

“Thank you for doing this,” Hermione said.

“You're welcome.”

She passed the food to him, and he began filling his own plate. They ate in silence for a while.

“So, what is the favor you mentioned before?” Hermione asked.

He appeared to consider whether to answer her for a moment.

“What do you know about the Wolfsbane Potion?” he finally asked.

“It's difficult,” Hermione said. “Volatile... and expensive.”

“Yes. It is all of those things, as well as time-consuming and tedious,” he said.

“You want to teach me to brew it? So that I can start making it for Remus and you can focus on the Apothecary?” she guessed.

“Not quite,” he said. “I'd like your assistance with the brewing process. I shall continue to supervise the creation of the potion. We can't have Remus getting a weak batch, especially now that he's been taking it for years.”

Hermione nodded.

“Of course I'll help you with Remus' potion,” she said.

It would not even be a favor. Hermione would look forward to learning to brew Wolfsbane. When they had finished their meal, Snape wandlessly sent their plates to the sink to wash themselves.

“Have you practiced?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Very well. Let's begin.”

He led her back to the room lined with books and sat down in the same spot as before. The same spot as Hermione's dream. She pushed that thought back as she joined him.

“Start with what you've practiced,” he said.

Hermione successfully demonstrated the exercise, without any fires or frozen fingertips.

“The next exercise is to use magic to repel and attract objects. The reason I demonstrated this together with warming and cooling is that it helps to connect them in your mind as you learn to control your Wandless Magic.”

Hermione nodded, becoming a bit nervous as he continued.

“Eventually, you will be able to repel things without the warmth, but for now I want you to first warm your hands, and the imagine that warmth pushing my hands away,” he said.

“All right,” she said, sounding far more confident than she felt.

An hour later, all Hermione had managed to do was make the air in the room significantly warmer, and her hair significantly frizzier. Snape had demonstrated again for her a few times, and now he made her take a break.

“Ah, is the loo upstairs?” she asked, after standing and pacing a few steps.

“The second door in the hall,” he said.

He leaned back against the sofa and stretched his legs out as Hermione went upstairs. A few minutes later, as she attempted to tame her frizzy mountain of hair into a bun, she could not get the image of Snape reclined out of her thoughts. She had never seen him look so relaxed.

Hermione ignored the little thought that tried to push it's way to the surface, that the image would make an appearance in a future dream. She was unsuccessful in keeping the thought from her mind when she walked back down the stairs and saw him still in the same position, his eyes closed. She cleared her throat. Snape opened his eyes and rearranged himself.

“I want to try again,” she said with determination.

  
“You should take a longer break,” he said. “Perhaps a glass of water?”

He raised his hand and beckoned one forth from the kitchen. Hermione was beginning to wonder why he ever bothered with the formality of a wand at all. She supposed it was important for potions work, and perhaps he did not want anyone else to know the extent of his Wandless Magic capabilities. After all, it was not a sanctioned use of magic. She took the glass of water that was now hovering in the air before her.

“Thanks,” she said.

The room was still warm and the cool water did seem to help. Hermione drank it all and gently placed the glass down on the table behind her.

“I'm ready.”

This time he did not argue, but simply held out his hands. Hermione decided to keep her eyes open, against his advice. She'd been practicing with them open at home, so perhaps that would help her move past the warmth and get her magic to move his hands.

At first, she stared at her hands, but that was too distracting. She looked up and stared through his forehead instead. His gaze was focused intently on his own hands, waiting for her to succeed, and watching for any errant bursts of flames. The warmth of her magic flowed from her palms effortlessly, and Hermione imagined it meeting his with heat _and_ force.

  
His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and Hermione felt something shift in the room and in her magic. A pleased look came across his face and he looked down again. Hermione did the same and saw that she had finally succeeded. She gasped and ceased the exercise.

“I did it! Right? That was it?”

He nodded and summoned himself a glass of water now. He drank it before speaking.

“You have completed half of the exercise,” he said. “Are you prepared to try the second part tonight?”

Hermione glanced at the clock. If Remus was home he would have questions, but she was not about to leave the lesson before Snape was ready to end it.

“Yes,” she said.

The second half came to her easily. Perhaps it was only because she was much more interested in summoning Snape's hands into her own rather than pushing them away, but she was successful on the second try. She was not expecting such quick results, nor was she expecting the sharp jolt of desire that hit her when his still-warm hands were suddenly pressed against her cold palms. They remained stuck there by her magic for a few seconds until Hermione released them.

“Very good,” he said.

Hermione sighed in relief and said, “I'm glad that didn't take as long.”

She needed to get home before it became impossible to ignore disorienting and conflicting feelings she was experiencing. Hermione stood up.

“Remus will wonder where I've been so late,” she said.

Snape was amused and said, “Is it any of his business?”

“Have you ever had a roommate?” Hermione asked without thinking.

One of his eyebrows rose.

“They always want to know your business,” she said.

Once again, Snape followed her upstairs and watched her Disapparate from the doorway.

Remus was not home when Hermione returned to Grimmauld Place. Hermione tried to read a book, but it was impossible to distract herself from the thoughts and feelings whirling in her mind.

“What is wrong with me?” she wondered aloud.

She did not know how to deal with her sudden desire to feel Snape's magically-warmed hands on her body. It must be some kind of self-destructive impulse.

Yet, it was an impulse that captured her thoughts for the rest of the night. Between bouts of fitful sleep filled with dreams equally as inappropriate as the one from the night before, Hermione tried to clear her mind. She woke Friday morning from yet another dream:

_She came down the stairs into the sitting room to find him seated, waiting for her. Before either of them could offer a greeting, Hermione walked up to him, put her hand into his hair, cradled the back of his head, and tugged. He allowed her to tilt his head back and kiss him as she climbed onto his lap._

Just as her dream self began to unbutton her blouse, Hermione woke up. She spent the entire day frustrated in more ways than one. Remus would be locked away in his room that evening. George was going out with Angelina again, and apologized for not having been over to Grimmauld Place in a while.

“It's all right, George. Tonight's the full moon, anyway,” she said.

“Oh... right,” George said. “I'll have to come over Sunday and see Remus. He's always in the best mood right after.”

Hermione nodded.

“I think he'd like that,” she said. “Shall I invite Neville and Luna as well?” she asked.

“Yeah, invite Neville and Luna,” George said pleasantly. “Angelina will get a kick out of seeing Neville again. I dunno if she's seen him since he was ickle Longbottom.”

That night, Hermione felt deeply lonely, and it was not something she was used to feeling. She owled Luna and Neville to invite them over on Sunday, and wrote a letter to Harry and Ginny, who were on holiday. After hours of reading Muggle fiction, Hermione put aside her book and wrote a note to Snape.

_Severus,_

She paused, her quill hovering above the page, then continued.

_I'll bring dinner to our next meeting. Do you have a preference?_

_-Hermione_

An idea was forming in Hermione's mind. It was perhaps the worst idea she'd ever had, but there was no getting rid of it. Perhaps the way for her to move on from the past was to befriend Severus, and if in the process of getting to know the real Severus she happened to shag him perhaps that would heal the old wound between them. It was a terrible idea, but as George had once said, it wasn't going to stop her from trying it.


	24. Judgment

Hermione received a reply to her owl the next evening. Remus slept until dinnertime and was thankfully not present when it arrived.

_I trust your judgment._

_\- Severus_

Hermione had a few days to decide which cuisine to bring with her to the next lesson. By Sunday, she had settled on curry. Remus was indeed in a pleasant and convivial mood when her friends arrived. Hermione wondered what the rest of them would think when George came in with Angelina, clearly smitten.

The answer was that Remus spent more than a few moments looking at Hermione with something like concern, and Luna stuck around until the others left to ask if she was okay.

“I'll be fine, Luna,” Hermione said, shrugging uncomfortably. “There was a moment I did think, maybe George and I... you know, could become something. But Angelina's great for him. She's perfect.”

Luna gave her a sympathetic look and waited.

“I forgot how much George loves Quidditch. All the Weasleys do,” Hermione said. “I simply can't stand talking about it now that we aren't in school.”

Luna nodded and blinked a few times before saying, “Yes, I am glad Neville isn't much for Quidditch. I'd much rather hear about his plants.”

Hermione laughed and nodded. Neville was only ever effusive when it came to his plants.

Luna left and Hermione stayed up far too late reading. Then, before going to sleep, she sat cross-legged on her bed and tried unsuccessfully to repel and summon small objects with Wandless Magic. In frustration, she finally placed her book on her lap, held her hand over it, and closed her eyes. This time she recalled the feeling of pulling his hands into her own, and imagined the book was his hot, lightly calloused palm. The book flew into her hand almost immediately. Hermione sighed.

Monday passed uneventfully. Hermione hated the sudden distance between herself and George. Perhaps it was only in her mind, but their working relationship was different with Angelina in the picture.

Then Tuesday came. Hermione ordered the takeout curry, tucked it into her beaded bag, and Apparated to the tiny room once again. She walked through the landing, down to an empty sitting room. Making her way to the kitchen, she noticed for the first time that the floors didn't creak at all in the old house. They must be charmed to be silent. She stopped in the doorway to the kitchen and looked around at the dim, empty room.

“Severus?” she called.

“You're early,” he said, appearing a moment later from behind a closed door at the other end of the room. He shut it firmly behind him.

“I gave myself extra time to pick up dinner,” she said, pulling the crinkly paper bag of takeout from her beaded purse and placing it on the table.

Once again, he set the table with Wandless Magic and they ate together.

“I hope you like it,” Hermione asked.

“I enjoy a good curry,” he said. “This one is excellent.”

Hermione smiled. After dinner, she spent the next hour practicing her wandless exercises. After two times through the exercises, he made her summon and repel objects in the room instead of his hands. It proved to be more difficult, especially as he watched her fail to perform the magic on the first try. He gave no indication that he was as disappointed as Hermione over her first attempts, but that didn't matter.

After she finally succeed with a number of books, a paperweight, and an empty candleholder, he told her to take a break. Hermione sat with her hands folding in her lap, absently rubbing her thumb over her fingers. He left and returned holding glasses of water.

“Relax,” he said. “Stop thinking about Wandless Magic for a moment.”

She took the glass he offered her then drank it as he stood beside the sofa, staring at the narrow split in the curtains on the window behind Hermione.

“I shall begin brewing another batch of Wolfsbane at the end of the week,” he said. “Are you available to observe the process on Friday evening?”

“I don't have any plans,” Hermione said. “Ah, do you still brew in that cave?”

He scoffed and said, “No. I have moved to a more appropriate workspace in the cellar of the shop.”

“Then I'll meet you at the Apothecary after work,” she said.

He took her empty glass and disappeared back into the kitchen. Hermione sat trying to keep her mind clear of both thoughts of Wandless Magic and of Severus Snape. However, as she waited for him to return she could not help imaging what would happen if she went to stand by the bookshelves and kissed him when he walked into the room again.

No, that wouldn't work, even in her imagination. He was just a bit too tall. Hermione properly focused on clearing her mind, and had succeeded by the time Severus stepped back into the parlor. She resumed practice summoning and repelling objects, and after a while he stopped her.

“I will demonstrate your next exercise,” he said.

He picked up the paperweight Hermione had just summoned, a smooth, oblong black stone, and held it out between them. In the next second, it was levitating a few inches above his palm. He looked at Hermione, then back at the hovering stone. They both followed it with their eyes as it levitated higher, above their heads, then back down. Back up, and down again. After a few more times, he let it fall into his hand.

“This will begin to increase the control you have over your magic,” he said. “It is not enough to be able to send things flying across rooms.”

Hermione agreed, but she was not able to do more than make the stone flop off the edge of her hand a few times that night.

“Continue practicing all three exercises,” he reminded her. “Always start with the first ones and work up to levitation.”

“I will,” she said, closing her hand around the cool stone. It seemed to absorb some of her frustration. She did not realize until she Apparated home that she never returned the paperweight to him. It was in her hand as she stood in front of Grimmauld Place, looking for a sign that Remus was home. There was no light coming from inside the house.

Remus came in while Hermione was upstairs showering and was reading when she came downstairs.

“How are you this evening, Hermione?” he asked, finishing the paragraph he was reading before looking up at her.

“I'm fine, Remus. How is Teddy?” she asked.

“He's got his mother's temper,” Remus said with a chuckle. “But also her laughter. He had frightful tantrum this evening while Andromeda was out with her witches group.”

  
Remus sighed and said, “I'm glad he has not inherited my temperament. He's a happy child.”

“He does so often remind me of Tonks,” Hermione said. “Especially when his hair changes color.”

Remus laughed and said fondly, “Yes.”

Hermione wondered how long Remus was going to hide his lycanthropy from his son. Once Teddy was old enough to understand, surely he would tell him the truth. It would be a terrible thing to learn about one's parent by accident.

“By the way, I won't be home Friday evening,” Hermione said.

Their friends all had a standing invitation to the house on Friday nights, even though Ron had all but stopped coming, and Harry and Ginny were so popular they often didn't make it, either.

“Oh?” asked Remus. “You have a date?”

“Ah...” Hermione said.

If one considered standing in a dark cellar watching Severus brew a date. There was a part of Hermione that would like to turn it into one, if she had the courage.

“... a date with the library,” she finished. “I'm doing some personal research. I expect I'll be there late.”

“I see,” Remus said. “Would this have anything to do with Mind Magic?”

Hermione knew he was thinking of her parents again. He seemed to think of them more often than Hermione did, but she had years of practice putting her memories of them into sealed boxes in her mind.

“Perhaps,” she said.

He nodded and closed his book.

“I could speak to Severus for you, Hermione. I'm sure he would want to help,” he said, repeating his offer.

“Not yet, Remus,” she said. “I'm just not ready yet... but thank you.”

By Thursday, Hermione still had not been able to levitate the paperweight. She could make it jump and roll off her palm, and a few times it even seemed to hesitate in the air, but none of it could be called levitation. However, she was finally able to perform her other exercises automatically, an accomplishment of which she was exceedingly proud. After all, it was only her second week of practice with Wandless Magic.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to steal your paperweight,” she said, upon seeing Severus standing in the parlor as she arrived for her lesson.

She held it out to him. He looked at her hand.

“Did you manage to levitate it?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head.

“No. It did just about everything else except levitate,” she said, remembering in particular the time she had accidentally repelled it forcefully, just high enough in the air for it to narrowly miss the top of her head coming back down.

He took the stone from her and put it on a bookshelf.

“Before we return to levitation... come with me,” he said.

Hermione followed him to the kitchen, and he gestured for her to have a seat at the table. Then he went to the stove and began cooking dinner.

“You really don't have to cook for me,” Hermione said. For some reason, she felt embarrassed. “I can feed myself, you know.”

“I know,” he said. “However, as I would be cooking for myself whether or not you were here, you can put the idea that this is an act of charity out of your head.”

Hermione did feel a little better. She watched him work and realized it was like watching him brew. In no time, he had prepared the meal and magicked it onto two plates with two mounds of sticky rice. Her plate hovered in the air above the table.

“If you don't want it...” he said.

“Of course I do,” she said. “It smells amazing. Thank you.”

Her plate dropped onto the table in front of her.

“You're welcome,” he said.

They ate for a few minutes in silence.

“By the way,” she said. “Remus keeps offering to contact you for me.”

“Why would he offer to do that?” he asked.

Hermione gathered her courage and said, “He thinks you'll be able to help my parents.”

A mild scowl, which Hermione recognized as confusion, appeared on his face.

“Why would your parents need my help, in particular?” he asked.

It was at this point that Hermione realized it was still too soon for her to confess what she'd done to yet another person. Her friends did not comprehend the magnitude of the damage she had done with her memory charms, and Remus was not one to judge another's faults harshly. Severus Snape would not be so kind about it.

She drank from her water glass, suddenly wishing it was something stronger. Her mouth was still dry. Severus was still frowning at her, waiting for an answer.

“I need your help recovering their memories,” Hermione said.

Comprehension made his scowl disappear as his brows rose. He looked down at his meal.

“You modified the memories of your Muggle parents with Mind Magic... which I can only assume you taught yourself from a book?” he asked.

Hermione nodded, but he wasn't looking at her.

“Yes.”

“For what purpose?” he asked.

“You know why,” Hermione said. “ _Him._ I was one of his targets. I had to protect them.”

He put down his fork and folded his hands together, pressing them into his chin.

“What did you modify?” he asked.

“All of their memories of me. I erased myself,” Hermione said, and her voice cracked. She swallowed with difficulty.

His eyes fell shut.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“No. I also gave them new identities, and sent them to Australia,” Hermione said. “They don't even know who they really are.”

His opened his eyes, and the judgment Hermione had expected to see in them was absent. If anything, the way he was looking at her now was... softer. Almost kind. It made her want to cry in something like relief.

“Do you know where to find them?” he asked.

Hermione nodded, a tear escaping her left eye. His eyes moved almost imperceptibly, as if he was watching it trail down her face.

“I don't know if I can help you,” he said.

He stood up and cleared his half-eaten dinner plate.

“I'll need you to write down exactly what you did the day you modified their memories – the exact spells in the exact order they were performed,” he said.

Hermione nodded.

“Okay.”

“Are you finished?” he asked, nodding at her plate, where she was pushing around food with her fork.

“Oh, ah... yes. Sorry. This was lovely, but I've lost my appetite,” she said.

“Go try to focus your mind,” he said. “I'll be there in a moment. Unless you'd rather forego tonight's lesson?”

“No,” Hermione said quickly. “I want to do the lesson.”

She went to sit on the sofa, picking up the smooth stone paperweight on the way, and sat turning it in her hand as she meditated her thoughts of her parents away. Severus stayed away from the parlor long enough for her to compose herself. When he appeared, he was holding short glasses of amber liquid, and silently offered her one.

“Thanks,” she said, taking it and sipping gratefully.

No words were spoken as they drank together. When she put her glass down and held the paperweight out in her hand, he took it from her.

“Start with the first exercises,” he said.

“All right.”

Hermione looked at him and made a decision.

“Hold out your hands, then,” she said, putting hers out in front of her.

Without comment, he complied. Hermione easily completed the warming and cooling exercises, and when she summoned his hands she purposefully held them there just a bit longer than necessary with her magic. When she released it, his fingers twitched before he slipped his hands away. He gave her back the paperweight and watched as she tried to levitate it again.

The stone jumped into the air and fell back down, smacking into Hermione's hand before rolling off. It stopped before it hit the floor, and Hermione saw him directing it with his own fingers. He levitated it back into her hand.

“Relax,” he said. “You are letting your frustration get the best of you. It does not require much to get something this small into the air. It is not a burst of magic, but a gentle _lift_.”

He demonstrated by gracefully sweeping his hands under hers, barely touching them with his fingertips, and raising them a little.

“This stone is nothing. It practically wants to float on it's own,” he said. “It just needs the suggestion of magic to get it there.”

Hermione smiled at the idea of a 'suggestion' of magic and nodded. She closed her eyes. Perhaps that would help. She held the stone in her somewhat clammy palm and took a few calming breaths. The magic she sent to her hands was so subtle that it tickled her skin and made her scalp tingle as her intent flowed from her thoughts and mingled with the magic.

She breathed out slowly and the stone felt lighter in her hand. When it finally lifted away from her palm, leaving behind a cool spot as the air hit moist skin, Hermione smiled. She didn't dare open her eyes.

“It's working,” she whispered. “Isn't it?”

“It is,” he said.

Hermione took another slow, deep breath. As she let this one out, she opened her eyes and saw the stone hovering in front of her face.

“I did it!”

It fell heavily back into her hand, and she grinned. His eyes crinkled a little and a faint smile mirrored her own, which was high praise.

“Try it again,” he said.

This time Hermione stared at her hand until the stone lifted into the air, then looked at him, unable to stop smiling. A little more lift, and the stone rose higher. She lowered it again and then nestled it gently back down and closed her fingers around it.

“Good,” he said. “Now, you are going to lift it into my hand.”

Hermione nodded, but she missed his hand an embarrassing number of times before she finally managed to drop it into his open palm. The stone was no longer cool, but had warmed from the heat of their hands. She was to practice lifting objects and gently dropping them down somewhere else nearby.

“Do not attempt to levitate anything larger than this,” he said, handing her the paperweight.

As he followed Hermione up the stairs, she was struck by the thought that if she just turned around, their height difference would be removed. Instead, she walked up the stairs, down the hall, and into the tiny room where she would Disapparate.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, and seconds later she was back at Grimmauld Place.


	25. The Wolfsbane Potion

“What are you up to this weekend?” George asked Hermione, near the end of the day at the shop on Friday.

Hermione debated whether she should tell him the truth for a moment – he already knew about the lessons.

“I'm going to learn how to brew the Wolfsbane Potion,” Hermione said.

“That doesn't sound like fun,” he said. “You do know you're allowed to have fun sometimes, right?”

Hermione laughed and shook her head at him.

“It _is_ fun,” she said. “I _like_ learning new things.”

“I assume you are going to be learning it from our former Potions professor?” George asked.

She nodded and said, “You still can't tell anyone. If you do...”

George cringed. Hermione's ability to think of a good revenge hex was well-known.

“I won't!” he promised. “I dunno why it's such a secret, though.”

Hermione walked down to the shop that would one day be the Apothecary. He was standing by the door waiting for her. He did not look like himself anymore, Hermione realized. Instead of black robes, he wore black pants and white or grey button-down work shirts, often with the sleeves rolled up. He seemed to be getting regular haircuts for the first time in his life, and the dark circles that used to underscore his eyes were gone. If she had not seen him recently, she probably wouldn't recognize the man standing in front of the shuttered shop.

“Is it my turn to do dinner?” she asked. “I can go pick something up.”

“That won't be necessary,” he said, opening the door to the shop and waiting for her to enter.

He went behind the bar and pulled out two bottles, then placed a large brown paper bag beside them. He'd already brought food. Hermione looked around the shop.

“It looks like you've had some work done in here,” she said. There were new shelves and the floor had been refinished.

“Indeed,” he said.

He opened their bottles and set out the food. Fish and chips this time. Hermione was suddenly ravenous.

“Tell me about your plans for the shop,” she said. “What else needs to be done before you open?”

She expected him to give her a short, vague answer. Instead, as they ate he methodically explained the work left to do at the Apothecary. Hermione liked hearing him speak this way, slowly and carefully, in detail about a subject. His voice was almost soothing when he could be convinced to talk at length. It was really a nice voice, Hermione thought, the sort of voice that would be perfect for an audio book, like the ones her parents listened to in the car sometimes...

Hermione stopped that train of thought immediately. Her memories of her parents were not welcome in this moment. She took a long drink from her bottle.

“Are you ready to observe the brew?” he asked.

Hermione nodded, then finished off her beer. After clearing their mess, he led her to a back room, where a narrow stair led down to the cellar. Thankfully, one side of the building faced the downward slanting side street, and there were small windows to let in some light. It was not so much like a dungeon as Hermione had imagined.

He lit the lamps with a flourish of his hand and took a heavy apron off of a hook at the bottom of the stairs.

“Should I have one, too?” Hermione asked.

“Not as long as you stand back a few feet,” he said. “You're only observing tonight.”

He tied it around his waist, an action that somehow made Hermione's pulse speed up, and rolled his sleeves down, buttoning them tightly around his wrists. Then he put on a pair of dragon hide gloves.

“It is imperative to cover all exposed skin when brewing potions such as Wolfsbane,” he said. “At certain points in the process, it is prone to spitting.”

Hermione nodded.

“The gloves are not so much to protect your hands from the ingredients in this case, but to keep your hands from contaminating the ingredients. Specifically the delicate _terrifona_ leaves,” he said, moving to his workbench.

She followed him and watched as he narrated everything he did in detail, explaining why he sliced, crushed, and chopped each ingredient a specific way. As the brew went on, Hermione forgot about her aching feet from standing on a cold stone floor, and went into a kind of academic trance as she listened to him speak. Hours later, even later than Hermione had anticipated, he extinguished the flame under the cauldron and levitated a heavy lid over the top of the brew.

“It will sit for twenty-four hours,” he said. “The final portion of the brew takes about an hour, over a very hot flame.”

He gestured to the dark fireplace on the opposite wall and said, “It helps to use a fireplace for both safety and efficiency for the final step.”

Falling silent, he stretched his arms, neck, and back, which cracked a few times. He removed his protective accessories and rolled his sleeves back up. Hermione noticed as he pushed his hair back from his face that the rising heat and magical steam from the cauldron had made it limp and slick, just as she remembered it looking in the past.

“So, I'll come back to watch you finish it tomorrow?” she asked. “What time is it?”

“Half past ten,” he said. “Meet me at my house first tomorrow night, at ten o'clock.”

“Why?” Hermione asked, automatically.

He gave her a look of disbelief.

“Do you want to Apparate to this part of Diagon Alley alone at night?” he asked.

“I'm sure it would be fine,” Hermione said dismissively. “It's not like I haven't done far more dangerous things.”

“Nevertheless,” he said. “Meet me at ten. At Spinner's End.”

Hermione had to sneak out of her bedroom window at Grimmauld Place that night to avoid Remus' curiosity. She felt supremely silly doing so. When she appeared in the tiny room, Severus was there with a lit wand-tip, waiting for her.

“Oh! Ah, hello,” she said. “I wasn't expecting you to be in here.”

His features were harsher than usual in the bright wand-light.

“In the interest of time, I thought I'd be ready to leave,” he said.

He offered her his arm, and even though Hermione wanted to argue that she was perfectly capable of Disapparating herself, she knew he would argue that it was safer to Apparate at the same time to the same place together. It was a best practice. She slipped her arm through his.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

The disorienting nature of Side-Along Apparition was something one never got used to, Hermione supposed. He helped her steady herself on her feet before he took his arm back from her. The street was dark and his wand was the only nearby source of light. They went inside and he locked the door behind them.

Hermione had been tired before she left Grimmauld Place, but it disappeared quickly as she watched him work for the next hour. The swift and tedious spells required to stir the potion from afar, and the heat from the fireplace, made the last steps particularly nerve-wracking to watch. Severus, however, was calm and his movements practiced. Everything went smoothly until finally the potion was left covered and cooling for the morning.

“All that work to produce such a small amount of potion,” Hermione remarked. “Remus is lucky to have you provide it for him. His life is so much improved thanks to you.”

“My reasons for providing Remus the potion have little to do with wishing to make his life easier,” he replied. “I do not wish for anyone to come in contact with an untreated werewolf during a full moon.”

“Well, then it's a service to society, not to Remus. That is still admirable,” she said, as they walked up the stairs and emerged in the shop's back room.

He seemed to find this funny and said, “Do not try to make me admirable, Hermione. I am particularly concerned for myself never again meeting an untreated werewolf.”

The way the moonlight coming in through the shop window hit his face highlighted his expression, and he looked both amused and relaxed – very nearly playful, Hermione thought.

“But you are admirable,” she said.

The amusement vanished, replaced by an unidentifiable expression. Hermione sobered. He didn't say anything else as they walked outside. She waited for him to lock up the shop.

“Well, I'll see you Tuesday,” she said, and Disapparated.

Tuesday was too far away. Hermione was so desperate to distract herself that she went with Remus to see Teddy on Sunday. Andromeda was elated that Remus had brought someone besides Harry to the house, and she doted on Hermione, offering her so many cups of tea and biscuits that Hermione felt bad when she had to begin refusing them. Teddy was now looking less like a baby and more like a tiny, adorable wizard. Remus had taken to buying his son Muggle toys with his Muggle paycheck, instead of bothering to change his money into Galleons. Hermione planned to begin gifting Teddy books as soon as he was old enough to read.

On Monday, Hermione went to lunch with Harry. He was beginning to become disenchanted with the day-to-day work of an Auror, but his excitement to marry Ginny and start a family seemed enough to keep him happy. He was already talking about teaching Teddy to fly a broom.

  
“Have you seen Ron lately?” Harry asked.

“No. Ron and I aren't close anymore, Harry. You know that,” Hermione said.

Harry looked pained at the thought, but he nodded.

“I know. Anyway, I just wondered if you knew he's going to propose to Romilda Vane.”

Hermione needed a moment to reply.

“I didn't even know he was going out with Romilda Vane, Harry.”

“Yeah. It hasn't been long,” said Harry. “Maybe a little over a month?”

“ _What?_ ” Hermione said. “Wasn't she the girl that tried to give you a love potion in school?”

“Yeah, that's the one. She's... better now,” Harry said. “I think.”

“You think?” Hermione asked. “Harry, you've got to talk some sense into Ron. He can't marry _Romilda Vane_ after going out with her for a month. What will his mother say?”

“Molly loves her,” Harry said, laughing. “They get on brilliantly.”

“Oh, for the love of Merlin...”

“Arthur likes her, too,” said Harry, shaking his head.

“Does George know?” Hermione wondered. He certainly would have mentioned it if he did.

“I think Ron's only told me and Ginny so far.”

“What does Ginny say about it?” asked Hermione

“She says he's barking.”

“Exactly!” Hermione exclaimed.

Hermione took a bite of her sandwich and shook her head in disbelief as she chewed.

“You haven't said what you think, Harry,” she said.

“I think... they're in love,” he said. “Who am I to judge love?”

“Do you like her?”

“She's fine. She apologized for the love potion. I dunno. She's not the worst person Ron's dated,” Harry said.

Hermione was quickly beginning to wish she'd never had anything with Ron herself.

“She's not a Quidditch player, is she?” Hermione asked skeptically.

Harry chuckled and said, “No. Definitely not. She loves cheering at Ginny's games, though. Her voice was so loud last time, I thought she'd used an Amplifying Charm.”

The next day was Tuesday. Hermione owled Severus in the morning to tell him she would bring dinner to their lesson that night. She decided on pies from the bakery a few shops over, and bought them on her lunch break, carefully placing them under a stasis charm that should last long enough to keep them fresh for dinner.

“Severus!” she called, walking into the empty kitchen that evening with the food stashed away in her beaded bag. “Do you have anything stronger than water?”

“Bad day?” he asked.

“Weird day,” she said.

He opened the refrigerator and handed her a bottle.

“Will this do?”

“Yes. Thank you,” she said.

Once they were sat down to eat, he said, “What happened?”

Hermione sighed and replied, “It's stupid. Nothing happened. Harry just told me some news that I wasn't expecting to hear.”

“So, it's Potter's fault you've come into my home in such a mood this evening,” he said. He was amused again.

“No. It's not Harry's fault, he was just the messenger,” she said. “You must stop thinking badly of Harry. He's the one who got you pardoned.”

“I maintain that it was due to your testimony,” he replied. “But I give Potter credit for trying.”

Hermione did not argue further, but ate more of her pie. As usual, Severus cleaned up from dinner by showing off his skill with Wandless Magic, and they went to the parlor. Hermione had made some progress with her control over wandless levitation over the weekend, but not enough. He made her practice floating every book off one of his shelves to form stacks on the floor, then levitate them back to their spots, correcting her if she put one in the wrong place.

“What's next?” she asked, when she finally completed the task.

“Next, you are going to put out a candle from across a room,” he said. “Then you are going to re-light it.”

Hermione thought that sounded like it could be dangerous. It turned out to be very boring because she could not manage to do it. Severus was able to put out the candle in the stand over in the corner with a snap of his fingers, and lit the flame again with the subtle curl of his pinky.

“When you try this at home, do it with a candle nearby, on a non-flammable surface,” he instructed. “And keep your wand at hand in case you need to put out any accidental fires.”

She began to worry that her magic would be the end of Grimmauld Place.

“Let me try one more time, then I'll go,” Hermione said. “Sorry. I know it's late.”

He gestured for her to make another attempt. Sadly, it was also a failure.

“Everything about Wandless Magic is frustrating,” she said. “No wonder nobody learns it.”

There was that amused look again.

“Would it help you to know that it took me two months to reach this point?” he asked.

Hermione didn't believe him.

“Really?”

He blinked and then spoke.

“I was much less inclined to practice than you when Albus offered to teach me. He hoped a new challenge would distract me from... certain painful thoughts.”

He stood up and waited for her to do the same.

“Your progress is... admirable,” he said.

Hermione had to hold in the grin that wanted to break on her face.

“Thanks,” she said.

She began to climb the stairs, reluctant to leave. He stepped up behind her and Hermione stopped. It was now or never, she decided. She turned around and met his eyes, now just a bit lower than hers.

Just do it, she thought.

Time seemed to slow down. Hermione watched his face as he silently tried to figure out what she was doing. She put a hand on his shoulder, brushed her fingers against his neck. His mouth opened and he began to say something, brows pulling together. Slowly – at least it felt slow to her – Hermione leaned forward and kissed him. Then time resumed as normal again, and his hands were on her upper arms, pulling her back from his lips, looking at her without blinking.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered.

He let go of her, his face giving no indication of his thoughts. Hermione tried to step backward and caught her foot on the next stair.

“I'll just go,” she mumbled, turning around to continue her ascent, but before she could move away he put his hand over hers where it rested on the railing.

“Don't,” he said.

Hermione's heart was beating so hard she felt as if it might escape her chest. He held onto her hand as she turned back around to face him, guiding it across the space between them. She touched his face and kissed him again. This time he kissed her back as she slid her hand to the nape of his neck, encouraging him to tilt his face up to her as she deepened the kiss.

He held onto the stair railing with one hand, and the other touched her back lightly. Hermione put her hands on his chest and pushed gently until he moved down a step. Down once more, and she kissed him again. It was a dance that she led with urgency and he responded to with intense, deliberate teasing, refusing to let her rush the moment.

When he pulled away and looked at her, Hermione knew what he was going to say before the words left his mouth.

“I'll see you Thursday.”

She sighed and slid her hand from its spot on his shoulder down to his chest. He reached up to stop her, covering it with his own cool fingers, which wrapped around hers and pulled them away from his body.

“Goodnight, then,” she said.

This time, he did not come upstairs to watch her Disapparate.


	26. The Flame

Hermione's mind was far from work the next two days at the shop. George noticed, of course.

“What's got you off in the clouds lately?” he asked on Thursday afternoon.

“Sorry, what?” Hermione asked.

George chuckled and said, “Good one, Hermione. Are you going to tell me what's the matter?”

“Nothing's the matter,” she said.

“All right. I won't pry,” he said, but the curiosity in his voice told Hermione that was a lie.

“George, when was the last time you talked to Ron?” she asked, hoping to distract him.

George stopped writing in his notebook and thought for a moment.

“I reckon it's been a few weeks,” he said, shrugging. “Why do you ask?”

“Did you know he's got a new girlfriend?”   
  


George frowned and seemed to be thinking back through his last interactions with his younger brother.

“I don't keep track of his girlfriend's, Hermione. They aren't usually around long enough to notice. Ginny did say that he's dating some younger witch who went to Hogwarts with us. I don't think Ginny approves.”

Hermione held back a laugh.

“You aren't upset about Ron's girlfriends, are you?” George asked. “That's not really fair, considering that we... _you know_. Ron would go mental if he found out.”

“Which is why he never will,” Hermione said. “And no, I'm not upset that he _has_ another girlfriend. It's the particular witch I object to... she tried to love-potion Harry in our sixth year and as a result nearly got Ron killed.”

“Are you serious? Ron nearly died from a love potion?” George asked. “It wasn't one of ours... was it?”

“No, it wasn't her potion that poisoned him. It's a long story... anyway, she tried to give Harry a love potion, George. That's the kind of person Ron's going to marry.”

George stared at her and narrowed his eyes.

“Marry? He hasn't had a relationship last longer that a couple of months, Hermione. I doubt they'll end up married,” he said.

Hermione slowly shook her head and said, “George, I think you need to talk to your brother. Harry says he's going to propose, and he would know, since he is still Ron's best friend. For all we know, the reason he's being such an idiot is she gave him another love potion!”

The revelation about Ron got George off her case, for which Hermione was relieved. She didn't need George figuring out why she was so distracted or realizing how eager she was to leave the shop on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

When she arrived at Spinner's End, he was sitting on the sofa with a book, waiting for her. It reminded her so much of _that_ dream that Hermione considered reenacting it right then and there, but he stood up before she could act on that impulse.

“Good evening,” he said, and his eyes seemed to glitter as he watched her approach. Oh, to know what he was thinking!

“Good evening,” she repeated and stood in front of him with a small smile on her lips.

“I'm afraid our lesson will be cut short tonight,” he said. “Would you like to eat? Or shall we begin?”

“Let's just start,” she said.

They sat down together.

“Were you successful with your attempts on your own?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I still can't do it.”

“Start with the warm-up,” he said, holding out his hands.

When it was time to put out a candle, he stopped her.

“You have to feel the heat of the flame on your hand from across the room,” he said.

He stood up and went over to the candle in question, beckoning her to join him. He cupped one hand around the flame for a few seconds. Hermione did the same.

“Close your eyes and memorize the feeling,” he said.

After a moment of concentrating on the heat hitting her cupped hand, Hermione felt it disappear as he extinguished the flame.

“That is what you must feel when you snap your fingers – the moment the flames dies in your hand,” he said.

Hermione nodded, eyes still closed. He lit the candle again, then put it out again.

“You're not snapping,” she observed in the silence.

“You can snap or not, but it's easier to coordinate if you can hear the moment you must focus your magic,” he said.

She nodded again and opened her eyes. He was standing so close to her, she noticed hungrily. No, she must focus on the magic. For now. They went back to the sofa.

Hermione tried again... and again. No success. She huffed out a frustrated sigh and rubbed her face. She jumped when she felt him touch her hand. He took her hands in his and made her cup them together.

“Feel the flame,” he said.

She closed her eyes and pictured the candle across the room, with its flickering orange flame and wax dripping down its sides.

“Now, it's out,” he said, abruptly folding her hands closed.

She felt his magic like a cold pinch and opened her eyes to look at the candle. It was indeed extinguished.

“Try again,” he said.

Hermione did, this time instead of snapping her fingers, she held her hand open and cupped as if around the flame, then smacked her fingers into her palm and felt the same cold pinch of magic. The flame went out.

“Finally,” she said, and collapsed happily against the back of the sofa.

“You're not done,” he said.

“I thought you said the lesson was to be shorter this evening,” she reminded him.

“We have a few minutes left,” he said, demonstrating his method of re-lighting the candle by folding his fingers into his palm and simply curling his pinky at the wick. It was such a small, relaxed movement that it hardly seemed possible there was magic involved, but the flame reappeared.

“As with levitating the stone, it does not require much to light a single candle,” he said. “It should come more naturally to you than putting it out.”

It did. Within ten minutes, Hermione had reignited the candle with just a wiggle of her pinky finger.

“Is that the lesson, then?” she asked. “Nothing new tonight?”

“You have enough to practice for now,” he said.

She nodded and stood up.

“All right.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I'm leaving you to whatever it is you have planned this evening,” she said.

He motioned for her to come back and sit down, so she did.

“Our lesson ended early so that we can discuss other things,” he said.

“Oh.”

Hermione hoped he did not actually intend to talk much during this proposed 'discussion' as she was not in the mood for such a talk. She would prefer he employed his lips in other ways.

“Your... _our_... actions were unwise on Tuesday evening,” he said.

Oh no, Hermione thought. It was going to be that sort of discussion.

“I don't agree,” she said.

He blinked slowly at her, leaning his elbow on the back of the couch and resting his head against his closed fist.

“What if I refused to continue these lessons? Would it have been worth it?” he asked.

“You didn't,” Hermione said. “And you won't.”

He peered at her as though he wished he could say otherwise.

“It will become an unnecessary complication,” he said.

Hermione mirrored his posture, tilting her own head to the side and resting it on her hand.

“Don't you get sick of only doing what is necessary?” she asked.

He again looked as if he wished he could argue, but did not. Hermione scooted closer and felt his breath on her face. She stretched to close the remaining space between their lips and even though she wanted to hungrily devour his mouth she restrained herself to a slow, sensual kiss. She was rewarded with the soft brush of his hand as it moved up her arm, over her shoulder, and to her neck, his thumb tracing along her jawline before his hand slipped behind her head.

“You're making a mistake,” he murmured. Hermione wondered if he was talking to her or to himself.

“I don't care,” she breathed, and it gave her the boldness she needed to climb onto her knees and push him back against the sofa. After a moment, he rearranged his legs so that she could throw one of hers over his lap.

As she snogged him more passionately, Hermione could not help beginning to move against him. Normally she'd be pants-less by now. He finally let out a little moan and it was all she could do not to beg him to fuck her immediately. Suddenly he stiffened and pulled his face away from hers, his hair falling back onto the top edge of the sofa.

“Stop,” he whispered.

Hermione froze and began to panic. What had she done wrong? Slowly, he reached up and pushed the damp baby curls from her forehead where they'd become stuck.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

For the first time in her life, she witnessed a dumbfounded look on his face.

“Then... come upstairs,” he said.

She followed him upstairs and he opened the door to one of the rooms she'd never seen before. His bedroom. She balked for just a moment in the doorway as he lit a lamp that cast a warm yellow light on a bed dressed in a simple dark gray cover. Her aversion to the idea of shagging in an actual bedroom took a seat when she looked at his dark figure waiting for her to join him. She walked up to him and reached for his shoulders. He leaned down and met her lips in response.

After a while, Hermione realized that no clothes were coming off unless she went first. So, she removed her shirt, and began to unbutton his. He finished the buttons as she took off her trousers. Hermione grabbed her wand and quickly performed a few necessary spells on herself. He tossed his shirt aside, and Hermione urged him down onto the bed with her.

She unbuckled his belt and once his trousers were undone she gave them a little tug until he obliged and slid them off. Hermione had already pulled off her knickers. She leaned over his chest, knees digging into his sides. Her hair made a curtain around their faces as she kissed him. She reached back to undo the clasp of her bra.

His fingers brushed against her breasts as she finally took him inside of her. Why had she avoided this before? It was exhilarating, looking down at him with her chest bare and free in the cool air, watching his eyes move from her face to her breasts to the joining of their bodies as they moved, and back. She didn't feel exposed. She felt powerful.

Hermione leaned forward and increased the friction that was quickly bringing her to a climax. She took a moment to kiss him again before leaning back and looking him in the eyes. She reached down to touch herself as she drove him deeper into her desperately aching body. It wasn't long until she closed her eyes and cried out in pleasure as she came. She barely registered his gasp and deep groan, his hands grabbing her thighs, fingers digging in as he gave into his own release.

She rolled onto the bed beside him, a pleasant tiredness dissipating from her legs as she stretched them out. He surreptitiously waved his hand over himself and then turned on his side and looked at her.

“Want some help?” he asked, slowly moving his hand toward her lower body.

She caught the uncertainty in his eyes and realized then how careful he was being with her, afraid to do anything that would remind her of _that_ day.

“Go ahead,” she said.

He quickly waved his hand over her body and took care of the clean-up for her. His fingers barely touched her skin. She rolled toward him and propped herself up on her elbow.

“I'm glad we did that,” she said. “I want to keep doing it.”

“I'll consider it,” he said, with the tiniest smirk.

She laughed.

“Brilliant,” she said.

Hermione sat up and found her bra and knickers, then slid off the bed to gather the rest of her clothes. He dressed along with her, and they walked out onto the small, dim landing, then down to the tiny bedroom from which Hermione would leave.

“Goodbye,” she said.

He stepped into the room and stood waiting for her to go.

“Goodnight,” she heard him say, as she Disapparated.


	27. Propriety

Hermione spent the next four days writing down a detailed account of what she did to her parents' minds. It took her until Monday night to finish because every time she sat down to finish the task, she ended up in tears after a few sentences.

On Tuesday morning, Hermione received an owl from Severus, asking her to meet him at the Apothecary instead of his home that evening. If he thought that meant she'd be better able to focus on Wandless Magic, he would find he was mistaken.

He was already inside when she arrived. There was food and drink on the bar.

“Why are we meeting here?” she asked.

“Your lesson tonight requires a potions lab,” he said.

Hermione sat down and picked up one of the bottles.

“Here,” she said, putting a neatly printed stack of folded parchment between them on the bar. “This is everything I did to my parents.”

He slid the parchment off the bar and tucked it into his pocket.

“I shall look over it and see if there is anything I could do. Are you hoping to restore everything you altered?” he asked.

“As much as can be done,” Hermione said. “I know it will not be everything. I – I didn't think I'd survive the war.”

He nodded and ate in silence for a few minutes. Hermione decided to ask him the questions she'd had for a while.

“Is Legilimency like Wandless Magic? You have to learn it from someone who already knows it? I couldn't find much about it on my own,” she asked.

“Indeed,” Severus said. “It is very much like Wandless Magic.”

“Which is easier to learn?” Hermione asked.

“Neither,” he said. “Have you decided to give up on Wandless Magic already?”

“No, I'm just curious,” she said.

She had considered asking him to teach her Legilimency, but at the time she had been horrified by the idea of letting him into her mind for any reason. Harry's stories about the Occlumency lessons had been disturbing, to say the least. Now, however, she thought there might come a day when she wouldn't be afraid of the risk that he'd see something embarrassing.

“Legilimency _is_ Wandless Magic,” he said. “Once you reach an advanced understanding of Wandless Magic, it will be easier to learn Legilimency.”

“It's wandless? But...” she trailed off.

“But what?”

“Harry said you used a wand during his Occlumency lessons,” she finished.

“I did,” he said. “In order to protect myself from the connection he had with the Dark Lord. There was a great deal of sensitive information in my mind.”

“Does performing Legilimency on someone using a wand make it more painful?” Hermione asked.

“It does.”

Hermione ate and drank, thinking not about Wandless Magic or Legilimency, but about whether he would be willing to shag her in the Apothecary that night.

It turned out that the reason he brought her to the shop was to learn how to light a fire under a cauldron without a wand. As usual, Hermione was not able to do it right away or even after an hour of trying. She was determined to get it that night, though, because she did not want their Thursday meeting to take place in the shop.

“I think I need a break,” she said.

He busied himself with cleaning and organizing his work area. Hermione sat on an uncomfortable stool at the end of his work bench and watched him. After a while he came to stand in front of her.

“Try it again,” he said.

She stated to get off the stool, but he said, “Try it from there.”

He moved out of her line of sight to the cauldron and waited. Hermione closed her eyes, focused her mind, and remembered that as he said, it required just a little more intensity than lighting a candle. She recalled standing in front of the cauldron as he lit the fire, feeling the warmth flare up suddenly on her outstretched hands.

Calling upon her magic to meet her intent, she let out her breath, held out her hand, rotated her wrist, and sent her magic toward the caldron. She opened her eyes just in time to see flames rise at her behest.

“Yes!” she exclaimed.

“Put it out before you celebrate,” he said, amused.

“Right. Okay...”

Hermione settled her mind again and made the same gesture she'd used to put out the candle flame, this time adding a twist of her wrist and a little more magic. The flames went out. She sighed in relief.

“Am I allowed to celebrate now?” she asked, grinning.

“How do you wish to do so?”

“Come here,” she said.

He looked as if he was going to deny her request for a moment, but then he stepped back in front of her stool. Hermione grabbed his shoulders and pulled him closer. She leaned in, but instead of kissing him she spoke into his ear.

“How long did it take _you_ to learn that one?” she asked.

Instead of answering, he touched the nape of her neck, sending tingles through her, and paused millimeters before meeting her lips. Then fingertips curled into the back of her neck as their mouths met, and his thumb brushed against her ear. When he pulled away and looked at her, Hermione waited a moment before teasing him.

“You didn't answer the question.”

He smirked at her in response. Hermione grabbed his smirking face and kissed him, but he only allowed her a few seconds of snogging before he stepped back.

“Let's get out of this dungeon,” he said.

  
They went up to the main floor, and Severus led her straight out of the shop and locked the door. Disappointed, Hermione hugged herself.

“I suppose I'll see you at the house Thursday, as usual?” she asked.

He offered her his arm.

“Are you trying to leave early?” he asked.

Hermione took his arm, and they Apparated to Spinner's End. Hermione wasted no time. As soon as her stomach stopped lurching after landing in the tiny dark room, she put her arms over his shoulders to pull him into a kiss. He complied and they stood snogging in the dark until he picked her up and carried her into his bedroom.

He deposited her on the bed and Hermione began to unbutton her shirt. He did the same but before he could shed any clothing, Hermione pulled him down to the bed. She slipped her hands under his open shirt and leaned back on the pillows, taking him with her. He took off the shirt, and watched as Hermione finished unbuttoning hers, shrugging it down her shoulders. She didn't get a chance to fully remove it because his bare torso was now pressed lightly against her as he reclaimed her mouth. His fingers teased one breast as he kissed her.

Then, he lifted himself off of her and his head moved down to her chest. Teasing fingers were replaced with his mouth on her breasts for a moment, then he sat back and placed his hands on her hips, toying with the waist of her trousers.

“Can you vanish things wandlessly?” Hermione asked, grinning.

She needed to replace those trousers anyway. With a rush of magic, they were gone, and she was down to just her knickers. He slowly slid them down her thighs, and Hermione kicked them off. He came back up for a long, deep kiss, and then he propped the rest of the pillows on the bed behind her shoulders. As she gave him a curious look, he crawled back down her body and lowered his shoulders between her legs.

Hermione was not prepared for the feeling of his tongue _there_. She watched for a little while, but soon her eyes fell shut as she was overwhelmed by the experience. She fought the urge to move under his mouth unsuccessfully until he held her hips still and intensified his efforts. Soon she came, her legs shaking, head thrown back over the pillows holding her up. Then she relaxed and simply melted into the bed for a moment. The mattress shook as he moved to lay next to her.

“Take off those trousers,” she demanded.

He chuckled once and the bed shook again as he did so.

“Come here,” she said, reaching for him and urging him to hold himself over her limp body, touching first his chest, then sliding her hands to his back, down to the dip in his spine above his arse. He settled on his elbows as she pulled him down for a kiss. Moments later he was inside her, moving slowly and sensually, and it wasn't long before she felt another climax building.

When she reached down to speed up the process, he waited until she began to moan. Then he gently, but firmly, moved her hand away. Hermione made a gasping, frustrated sound of pleasure as the orgasm that had been in sight slipped out of reach. With the briefest of pauses, he kissed her, and then began to tease her – every second or third stroke he changed his movements to glide perfectly, deliciously over her slick, engorged flesh.

“I'm coming,” she whispered as she felt it begin in slow-motion, and instead of a sudden burst of pleasure as she was used to achieving, it continued to expand in glorious sensation, as if her very soul was unfolding from her body. Her breath was gone for a moment as she climbed to a height previously unknown, and then she cried out as it crashed down in wave after pleasurable wave. He moved with increasing urgency through her orgasm, and reached his own just after she was done.

After a few seconds' worth of wandless clean-up, they lay on their backs side by side without speaking for a while.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked in a languid voice.

Hermione didn't know what to say. She didn't want to think about why she wanted to shag him, but now that she knew he was indisputably good at it she certainly didn't want to stop.

“It's fun... and I like you,” Hermione said.

After another stretch of silence, he spoke again.

“Are there others?”

Hermione didn't know how she felt about that question, but she said, “No. Do you have others?”

He seemed to find the question funny and said, “No.”

Hermione was surprisingly relieved. He got up and donned a robe that he picked up from a chair in the corner of the room. Hermione sat up and reached for her bra, blouse, and the knickers she'd kicked off at the end of the bed. It was then that she recalled she'd let him vanish her trousers. He caught the moment the realization crossed her face and smirked.

Before Hermione could say anything, he lifted her trousers from the floor, where he'd apparently sent them instead of vanishing them.

“Thank god one of us was thinking of how I'd get home,” she said, with an embarrassed grin.

“You don't carry a change of clothes around in that bag of yours?” he asked. “You seem to have everything else.”

Hermione had to think about it for a minute. It had been so long since she cleaned out her beaded bag that it was entirely possible there were a few pairs of trousers knocking about in there.

“I honestly don't know,” she said, shrugging.

Hermione put on her trousers as he continued to stand watching her. It felt wrong to be dressing and preparing to leave. She would have liked to stay lying in his bed like a puddle.

“Well. I should be going,” she said, talking more to herself than to him.

As usual, he followed her down the hall to watch her Disapparate, this time a less angular silhouette in his black robe and bare feet. When Hermione was back in her bedroom at Grimmauld Place she lay awake for a while wondering what it was they were doing and how long it would last.

On Thursday, she arrived for her lesson and could smell something delicious wafting from the kitchen as she walked down the stairs. Severus was cooking again, standing over the stove when she found him, the aroma of spices in the air. He must have timed his recipe perfectly to her arrival, because a minute later they were seated and eating.

“I looked over the information you gave me,” he said.

_Already?_ Hermione thought, but of course he had. She was not ready to hear his answer.

“Oh? What do you think? Is there any hope...?”

He lowered the hand that held his fork until it rested on the table.

“It may be possible to restore their identities,” he said. “As for the memories of yourself, it is worth an attempt, but likely only a small fraction will be recovered in a meaningful way.”

Hermione nodded. She continued eating, only because the food was good and he had prepared it for her. Her hunger was giving way to anxiety as she contemplated his words.

“That's more than I thought could be done,” she admitted.

They continued eating, perhaps both thinking about the day they'd go find her parents and try to fix their memories.

“How was your day at the shop?” he asked.

It was such a benign, common sort of thing to hear coming from him that Hermione almost laughed.

“It was fine,” she said. “George had Angelina visit for lunch, and she ended up hanging around in his office for most of the afternoon.”

Severus raised an eyebrow.

“Do you enjoy your work with Weasley?” he asked.

“I do,” Hermione said.

It had been a while since she had to defend her decision to work at a joke shop, when everyone expected her to quickly move on to greater – more academic – things. She waited for him to steer the conversation in that direction.

Instead, he said, “How much?”

Hermione frowned in confusion and immediately thought, _he knows about me and George... but how?_

He pushed his empty plate aside and leaned forward.

“Would you consider leaving?” he asked.

“I... I don't know. Why should I leave?”

“Perhaps someone will offer you a position better suited to your interests and abilities,” he said.

“You?” Hermione guessed immediately.

He rested his elbows on the kitchen table, crossing his arms.

“How do you feel about Potions?” he asked. “I shall need an apprentice eventually, if all goes as planned.”

Hermione nodded and mimicked his posture, leaning forward as well.

“I'm interested in learning more about potions,” she said, “but George and I are business partners. I'm honestly not sure George could run the shop without me at this point.”

“Business partners,” he repeated, looking thoughtful.

She doubted he would appreciate knowing that the partnership of which she spoke had revolutionized the magical adult toy business.

“However... I could work less hours at the joke shop,” Hermione said. “We could hire a shop assistant for the afternoons, or every other day...”

A tiny smile formed on his lips as she pondered how she could manage to continue her work with George and become a Potions apprentice. Hermione felt about Potions as she did all magical subjects – that she wanted to know as much as possible about it.

“I couldn't do it full time,” she said. “It wouldn't be a proper apprenticeship.”

His smile grew and he said, “There will be nothing proper about it at all, if you have your way.”

She laughed.


	28. Bewitched

**SEVERUS**

Severus' face fell into a serious expression as he watched her laugh and a faint blush appeared on her cheeks and neck. _You are in danger,_ his thoughts kept whispering.

Did she take anything seriously anymore? Was Hermione Granger still so broken from the war that she only shagged men she didn't think would want a relationship from her? He felt certain he was right. He'd seen George Weasley and Angelina Johnson walking through Diagon Alley a few times, and the ginger-haired womanizer was clearly a wizard in love for the first time. It was nauseating to witness.

Whatever Hermione had been doing with Weasley, it wasn't romantic, or she would likely have left her 'business partner' when it ended.

If it had ended.

He stared at her and thought, _of course it ended, she's a bloody Gryffindor._ She'd never be the other woman, the secret second fiddle to a committed man, and it was clear that George Weasley had become just that in recent months. Severus clung to that assessment.

“Shall we begin tonight's lesson?” he asked.

That night's exercise was particularly tedious. He demonstrated the delicate magic necessary to flip the pages of a book, one at a time. It looked easy, but it was the most difficult task he'd given her thus far. Summoning the book from the shelf was the easy part, which she performed without any trouble. She spent the evening huffing and sighing in frustration as the pages of the book stubbornly insisted on flipping either all at once or in clumps as if glued together.

“Take a break, Hermione,” he said. It had been an hour.

“I've never hated a book so much in my life,” she commented.

She repelled the book away from her, making it slide off the table and back to its spot on the shelf. It was marvelous to watch her successfully perform Wandless Magic after so few weeks of practice. He'd like to congratulate himself for her progress, but he had to give most of the credit to her sharp, focused mind and commendable control over her magic. If she had been able to find a book to teach her, she would have likely been successful on her own... though perhaps not as quickly and without someone present to put out any fires, literal or otherwise, that arose.

“Severus.”

He had been staring at the bookshelf as he contemplated her abilities. She placed her hand on his arm. He turned his head and her eyes drifted down to his mouth. She looked as if she wanted to devour him. It was a look he was not used to seeing on a witch's face.

“Let's take a break together,” she suggested.

“That is not what I meant,” he said.

“I think it will help,” she insisted.

It might actually help, he thought. So, her let her kiss him, and when she insisted on undressing him there on the sofa he let her do that as well. Perhaps for the first time in its long and dusty life, that sofa groaned under a lusty witch and Severus groaned along with it. She was impatient and passionate, and used his body to bring herself to release unapologetically. Then she turned her attention to him, unbuttoning her shirt and taking him deeper with each delicious movement of her hips.

Severus marveled at the moment in which he found himself. He pushed aside the doubts that simmered in his mind. There would be time for doubt later. He reached out and wandlessly removed the bra hugging her breasts, ran his fingers over them, then trailed his hands down to her hips. When he came, his thumbs dug into her hipbones as he muffled a satisfied moan. She echoed him.

He sat up, holding her there, and kissed her as he moved his right hand down under her skirt, between their bodies. His thumb reached its intended destination, causing her to moan again and tilt her hips into his hand. It didn't take much to get her to climax again – she got there in moments as he continued to kiss her and move his thumb delicately back and forth.

“Mmmm...” she moaned into his mouth after she finished. He slid his hand back to her hip, drawing a hot, wet trail across her abdomen.

She did not bother to look for her missing bra, but simply re-buttoned her shirt over her bare breasts and tucked it into her skirt. With a look of determination that was accented by her flushed face and lips, she lifted her hand and summoned a book to the coffee table in front of them. A flick of her hand, and the cover fell open.

She paused, then softly flipped her fingers as if turning an imaginary page, with the gentleness of someone afraid to accidentally tear the parchment of some ancient, fragile tome. A single page lifted itself from one side of the binding and moved to the other.

Hermione let out a little laugh.

“That was so easy! Why couldn't I do it before?”

“You were too tense,” he suggested.

She went home, and Severus spent the weekend at the Apothecary, brewing potions. Every so often, he found himself wishing she was there with him. She was perhaps the only person he would trust to assist him in brewing. If she would agree to be his apprentice, he could train her to work as an efficient second set of hands.

Hermione was undoubtedly the only person whose presence would not be an annoyance in his lab. He would be lying to himself if he pretended he wouldn't like some intelligent conversation as he worked.

Severus was still waiting on his permits to be approved with the Ministry of Magic so that he could make a few final necessary changes to the shop. The building was not meant to be an Apothecary, and since it was an old magical structure, a magical architect was required to sign off on anything beyond superficial decoration. It was a formality, as Severus was certain that his proposed remodeling spells would not cause any issues. However, he could not open the shop until that formality was done. The Ministry moved at a glacial pace, even now, so long removed from the upheaval of the war.

He might forgive the Ministry for putting a halt to his plans, though. The forced break had given him a reason to agree to the Wandless Magic lessons. He had always intended to go through with the lessons, but they might have been months delayed without the inefficient workings of the Ministry of Magic.

No amount of pondering could explain their affair. Severus knew he wasn't an attractive man. He'd been making some effort to improve his appearance since the war ended, in the interest of not scaring away future customers. It wasn't something he'd been concerned with before – in fact, he'd neglected himself for years as a depressed young man and later as a spy. He was taking care of himself properly for the first time in his life, but he was under no illusions. Looking cleaner and well-fed could only do so much.

It was not just his age, which he felt keenly now after shagging a much-younger witch, that made him completely unable to comprehend her desire for him. No, it was the past that puzzled him. He could not work out how or why she was able to be with him. Even if she had truly forgiven him, how could she forget? Had she removed the memory again?

Severus was not certain he would be able to continue the affair, as much as he wanted to do so. The longer it went on, the more time he had to wonder if the only reason she was fucking him was to prove something to herself. He could conceive of no good reason for her to choose him. It must be some kind of unhealthy way of coping with the past. If he was a better man, he would put a stop to it and never see her again.

He could not bring himself to do the right thing. She might be young, and she might be using him, and she might be damaged and confused, but she was also the only person who knew him at all. She knew things about Severus that he would never share with another soul.

Why had he let her get this close? The longer the lessons went on, the more he admired the mind and heart of the wild-haired, brown-eyed witch who had more control over her magic in one finger than the most magical folk could hope to achieve in a lifetime. Her thoughts were a soothing presence in a room, one that he looked forward to each week. It was a relief to be near someone who wasn't a chaotic storm of disorganized thoughts and shallow, constantly shifting emotion.

Severus had never used active Legilimency on her – even if he'd wanted to she would certainly notice any subtle invasion of her mind. However, it was easy to sense the emotional aura and direction of her thoughts most days. It was something Severus couldn't help observing in the people around him unless he employed strict Occlumency methods at all times. It was a talent that had been both a blessing and a curse in the past, and the cause of many headaches as a professor in the midst of classes full of hormonal, emotionally fragile young witches and wizards.

Hermione Granger was a mystery to him. She knew his past and his plans for the future, but he did not know much about hers. He suspected that she would reconsider the physical intimacy if he tried to unravel her tightly-held secrets. It had taken her years to ask for help with her parents. What else was she hiding?

Perhaps for a little while longer, he would simply enjoy the novelty of being desired, but in the end, Severus had lived too much of his life putting aside his feelings. There was no denying he was beginning to feel something for Hermione. One of two things would soon happen – he would end the affair and stop feeling it, or he would tell her and she would disappear from his life.

He would not allow himself to imagine a third possibility. He forbid himself from letting the idea form in his mind beyond a vague ache of disappointment. He was used to being alone. It was a fate he'd accepted. It would be foolish to hope for anything else.

Severus spent most of Sunday afternoon and evening working on his plan to restore her parents' memories. Albus might have been able to do more, but now Severus was the only expert he knew on the matter.

They continued lessons that week, and continued dining together before and shagging after. It was beginning to feel more and more like the lessons were not the point of their evenings together. She began to master each new task almost immediately as her confidence grew. That vague, unnamed ache grew more insistent in the back of his mind. He ignored it until the week after that, when she came to the Apothecary again to attempt her first wandless brew on Thursday evening.

Hermione brewed a Laughing Potion flawlessly using Wandless Magic to control the flame under her cauldron and to move the stirring rod in perfect, controlled turns. When she was finished and the potion was bottled, she removed her apron and launched herself into his arms for a celebratory kiss. On their way upstairs, she stopped before they made it past the front counter and kissed him again. After a minute, she paused and smiled as she put her hands on the counter behind her. She hopped up to sit there on the bar and pulled him toward her.

“Forget Apparating home. I want you now,” she said.

Severus was tempted to give her exactly what she wanted for a moment, but then he had a better idea.

“So impatient,” he murmured into her ear, causing her to agree wantonly.

He leaned on the counter with one hand and slipped the other under her skirt, resting it on her inner thigh. She slid forward on the counter, but Severus moved his hand along with her, keeping it in the same place. He tapped his fingers lightly on her hot skin as he kissed her, then slowly moved his hand further up her leg. Knickers vanished with a little Wandless Magic, and he dipped a fingertip into the welcoming wetness between her legs.

“Mmmmh,” she responded, trying to press her body against his hand. He briefly rubbed his fingers together, then lightly rested his lubricated thumb on that most tender spot. After one gentle circle, he paused, kissed her deeply, and slowly plunged two fingers inside her. As his knuckles touched her skin, he swiped his thumb in another circle.

“Oh...” she breathed.

He pulled his fingers back out of her and repeated the motion. Her hips moved this time, copying the slow, teasing rhythm, trying to urge him on.

“Oh, god...”

Every so often she pulled her mouth away from his to repeat the sentiment, until finally she was so close that she curled forward and pressed her head into his shoulder, fingers clamped onto his upper arm, breath ragged until it stopped. Severus held his breath with her as the orgasm began, and worked his hand faster. The sound she made as she came over the peak of it was raw and far louder than anything she'd uttered before.

Severus had not been with anyone else since learning the art of Legilimency. Hermione's orgasms were the first he had experienced vicariously. It wasn't something he had expected to happen, but it made sense that in the heat of the moment her mind was open and focused like a beam of blinding light on the building pleasure in her body, broadcasting it to him.

“Are you ready to Apparate now?” he asked.

“Only if you're the one doing the Apparating,” she said, sighing and leaning against him weakly.

They returned to the house and left a trail of discarded clothing on the short journey to the bedroom. There was no more teasing once they made it to the bed, and she still came a second time. It was nearly impossible for Severus to last past one of her orgasms, since he experienced them secondhand in his own mind. The intrusive awareness of her pleasure on top of his own was overwhelming. He gasped through it and then rocked his hips against her one last time as they both relaxed. She sighed contentedly.

“I don't want to leave,” she said.

“Then don't,” he replied, cleaning up and lying down next to her.

She sighed again and said, “I can't. Remus will probably send out a search party if I don't come home unexpectedly.”

“Perhaps it is time to tell him the truth,” Severus said. It was a thought that had not entered his mind until that moment, but it would be easier if Remus knew.

She sat up.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I am.”

Hermione leaned back on one arm and looked seriously at him.

“What should I tell him?” she asked.

Severus leaned on his own elbow and studied her face, his eyes briefly moving to the ends of her hair, which were just short of covering her breasts. He placed a hand on her waist and pulled her closer, kissing her once.

“Tell him you've bewitched me,” he said.

He met her gaze again. She was smiling.

“Be serious,” she said. “I'm not going to announce to Remus we're shagging.”

“I am serious,” Severus said.

“I haven't _bewitched_ you,” she replied, touching his face fondly and laughing a little.

“Perhaps you did not intend to, but nevertheless...”

Severus began to panic, albeit inwardly, somewhere deep in his body where it could not get out. He sat up and she joined him.

“I can't bring myself to end this, as I should do,” he said.

Her dark eyes roamed his face, perhaps in uncertainty, he thought.

“However, it must end, unless... you feel... as I do.”

She held his gaze, seemingly frozen for a moment. His panic grew as he could not get any further words out. She reached out to take his face in her hands.

“Severus, I love you. I think I have for a long time,” she said.

He was genuinely surprised by her words and her matter-of-fact tone.

“Why?”

The question escaped him as a whispered sigh before she kissed him. He wasn't even sure she'd heard the word until she looked at him again with a tear in the inner corner of one eye.

“Why not?” she challenged him.

Should he list the many reasons? He stared at her.

“Have you removed the memory?” he asked. “How else can you...?”

“What?” she asked, frowning deeply. “No. I haven't removed it.”

It was his turn to hold her face.

“I'm sorry,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I'm... so sorry. I – ”

His voice broke as she embraced him tightly. His own eyes began to fill with tears and he choked on any further apologies.

“The only pain it gives me now is when I think of the decision you had to make,” she said.

The assertion caused a few tears to fall from his eyes, down into her hair. What a ridiculous thing to say, he thought.

“When I remember what happened now, I can't feel the fear anymore. I don't feel the humiliation. Because it's _you_. Not a Death Eater. Not a spy. Not a murderer. It's you saving my life.”

Severus pressed his fingers into her hair, his chest aching. She sniffed suddenly, and repositioned her chin on his shoulder.

“Come to Grimmauld Place with me tonight,” she said. “We'll let Remus draw his own conclusions.”

He laughed.

“That is inadvisable,” he said.


	29. Together

Severus did agree to come back to Grimmauld Place with her that night. Remus was not home when they arrived. It was surreal to stand inside the front door of that house again. Nothing about it was the same – it was cleaner and brighter than he remembered. No dark objects lined the walls or the many tables and shelves tucked into corners. He wondered just how Potter had managed to remove the portrait from the wall, the one that screamed and insulted all who crossed its path.

She gave him a brief tour of the redecorated house and then they went upstairs to her room, which was the largest of the bedrooms. There was a tall bookshelf at one end of the room and a desk under the window. It was decorated plainly, with simple white curtains, a neat square grey rug filling most of the floorspace, and an old four-poster bed clothed in a soft blue duvet and piled with extra pillows at the head.

As they stood together in the bedroom, they heard the front door open and close. Hermione looked up him with excitement in her eyes. She stuck her head out into the hall and called down the stairs.

“Remus?”

“Yes?” came Remus' voice.

Hermione motioned for Severus to follow her and led the way down the stairs. She stopped just after the wall ended and the railing began down to the first floor.

“I know it's late, but there's someone I want you to meet,” she said.

“Oh? All right...” Severus heard Remus say.

Hermione descended the staircase and stepped into the room. She looked back at Severus, and he took a few steps down the stairs. By the time he could see Remus' face, the man was wide-eyed, his brow slightly furrowing as Severus came to stand beside Hermione.

“Hello, Remus,” he said.

“Severus, I...”

Remus stood up and came to offer his hand.

“It's good to see you,” he said.

They shook hands and Hermione beamed at them.

“I'll get us something to drink,” she said. “Sit down, you two.”

Remus glanced at Severus as if trying to judge how he would react to Hermione's familiar tone. She disappeared into the kitchen and when she returned Severus was sitting in the worn leather chair and Remus had returned to the sofa. Hermione reappeared with a tray of glasses and a bottle of spirits. Once they all had a drink in their hands, she sat down between them.

“Are you surprised?” she asked Remus.

“I am very surprised. Pleasantly surprised,” he said. “What brings you here this evening, Severus?”

“Transparency,” Severus said after a moment, and hid a reflexive smirk by sipping from his glass.

This was not the answer Remus had expected to hear, and he looked curiously from Severus to Hermione, who was also sipping her drink.

“Remus, I've been meeting with Severus for over a month now,” she said. “He's teaching me Wandless Magic, and he is going to help me with... with my parents.”

Once again, Remus looked from Severus to Hermione.

“That's wonderful,” he said. “I'm glad you are going to find your parents, Hermione.”

Hermione gave him a little nod and drank from her glass again.

“We thought you should know, but we're not ready to tell anyone else yet,” she said. “About any of it.”

“I understand,” Remus said. “I shall keep it a secret for as long as you wish.”

“Thank you,” she said, finishing her drink. She glanced at Severus, then got up and went to stand beside his chair. She held her empty glass in one hand and placed the other on his shoulder.

Severus hid another smirk with his glass as curiosity turned to suspicion on Remus' face. Hermione took her glass to the kitchen, leaving him alone with Remus, who held his near-empty glass aloft and looked away thoughtfully. Severus poured himself another glass, and after a moment Remus did the same. Hermione returned a few minutes later.

“I hope you won't mind having Severus around,” she said.

“Of course not,” Remus replied.

“Well. Goodnight,” Hermione said.

She went upstairs. Severus stood and put his empty glass on the tray that sat on the table between Remus and himself. Without saying anything else, Severus also went upstairs.

Hermione was sitting on her bed waiting for him. He came over to the edge and pulled her up to her knees for an embrace. Her mouth found his. Her hand found the zipper of his trousers and undid his belt. Her palm was warm and her hand moved in confident strokes. Minutes later, she pulled him onto the bed with her.

The next morning, Remus was already in the kitchen when Severus left a sleeping Hermione and went downstairs with the intention of cooking breakfast.

“Tea?” Remus asked, gesturing to the kettle as Severus walked into the room.

There was already toast and sausages on the griddle. Severus poured himself a cup of tea and wandered over to take a seat at the kitchen table.

“Fridays are hot breakfast days here,” Remus said. “This week is my turn to wake up early and cook.”

“I see,” Severus murmured into his teacup.

The only sound in the awkward silence was the sound of sizzling sausages as Remus turned them.

“How goes the work on the Apothecary?” Remus asked. “Still waiting on the Ministry?”

“Indeed.”

“Hm.”

Remus pulled a few plates down from the cupboard and dropped two pieces of toast onto each one.

“Do you reside in London?” he asked.

“I do not,” Severus said.

Remus hummed again as he added sausages to the plates. He charmed Hermione's food with a stasis spell and walked over to place one of the plates in front of Severus.

Severus sipped his tea as Remus began to eat.

“I am glad you've come out of hiding, Severus,” he said. “I think of you as a friend. It will be nice to see you once in a while.”

Severus wasn't sure he returned the sentiment, but he no longer _disliked_ Remus. He supposed it would depend on Remus' opinion of his involvement with Hermione. Severus had enough doubts of his own about the situation – he did not need any 'friends' adding to them. Remus did not seem to be discouraged by the silence from Severus.

“You're a private person. So am I. We understand each other, I think,” Remus said, briefly meeting his eyes. “We both know what it's like to be hated by most of magical society. Although, now that you've been pardoned and vouched for by Harry Potter, I think you'll find public opinion will change for you.”

“Perhaps,” Severus said, reluctantly picking up his fork and beginning to eat with Remus. “If not, the Apothecary will not last long.”

“It will last, I'm sure,” Remus said.

He chuckled and added, “In fact, your notoriety might actually help business.”

Severus was already worried that his first customers would only be there to gawk at him. Hopefully they would buy something in the process. Remus fell silent and finished his breakfast, then poured another cup of tea. They both looked up at the ceiling as they heard the shower water cut on above them. Remus placed his cup down on the table and stared at his hand.

“I've been asking Hermione about her parents since I moved in here,” he said. “She doesn't like to talk about them. Do you think you can help?”

“I don't know,” Severus admitted. “I won't know until we find them.”

Remus nodded grimly.

“I've worried about Hermione, Severus. In the past weeks, something changed.”

Severus waited for the next words out of his mouth to be a warning, or perhaps a challenge. Judgment.

“The Hermione I've known since the war – really, the only Hermione I've known well at all – is resigned. Distant. A little sad and tired, but seemingly unaware of it. She hides it from her friends.”

Remus looked at Severus and managed to hold his gaze now.

“Recently, though... well, I thought she must have met someone,” he said.

The water cut off upstairs. Remus glanced upward briefly again and then looked back at Severus. He smiled a little, then lifted his teacup and brought it to his mouth.

“She's been happier,” he concluded after a moment.

As if to prove his point, minutes later Hermione appeared in the kitchen with a smile on her face.

“Good morning,” she said, pouring herself tea and bringing her plate to the table.

She looked at Severus and said, “You were up early.”

He nodded and whisked his dishes away from the table wandlessly. Remus' eyes followed the plate and cup through the air with mild interest. He stood to take his own dishes to the sink and washed them by hand.

“Are you going to the shop this morning?” Hermione asked.

“I am,” Severus said. “And I shall be brewing this afternoon.”

“I'll come by with lunch,” she said.

Remus turned off the water and stood drying his plate for longer than seemed necessary. He then cleared his throat and said, “Well, I'm off to work.”

Once he was gone, Hermione quickly finished her breakfast and then she and Severus Disapparated from Grimmauld Place as well. Hermione came to the Apothecary that day for lunch. The next week, Severus did something he never thought he would do, and walked into the joke shop.

There were a few other customers shopping. George Weasley looked up when Severus entered, and seemed to grow a bit pale.

“Hermione?” Weasley called.

She appeared from the doorway behind the counter.

“Yeah?”

George made a show of turning his head to look at Severus as he approached. She smiled.

“Hello,” she greeted him. “I didn't expect to see you today.”

It was a Wednesday afternoon.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Mr. Snape?” George asked, offering him a handshake.

Severus looked at his hand and reluctantly shook it, saying, “Severus.”

“Right. Severus,” George echoed.

Severus looked at Hermione and said, “If you are free I thought we'd get lunch.”

“I was just about to go grab something to eat, actually,” Hermione said. “Your timing is perfect.”

He knew it was and smirked as George Weasley stared at him.

“Give me one moment,” Hermione said. “I'll be right out.”

She disappeared into the back room. George looked around the shop for a moment, then turned his attention back to Severus.

“Ah, so... I hear you're opening an Apothecary,” he said.

“I am.”

George nodded.

“I – ah – I'm going to see if anyone needs help,” he said, giving Severus a little wave. “Good to see you.”

That would not be the last time he made George Weasley uncomfortable. Severus met Hermione for lunch at least once a week for the rest of the summer. It was not until weeks later that George said anything to Severus beyond polite greetings and brief pleasantries.

There was nobody else in the shop that day when Severus came in. George was kneeling on the floor next to a display and stood up suddenly.

“Hey there, Severus,” he said. “Hermione's popped out for a minute. She'll be back soon.”

George stood with his hands on his hips looking past Severus for a moment.

“Ah, I'm going to regret this...” he said.

Severus frowned, but before he could ask what George meant by that statement, he faced Severus and spoke again.

“We might as well address the elephant in the room, right?” George asked. “If we're going to keep seeing one another like this... you know, Hermione's my friend. I'll always be around, even if she weren't working here anymore.”

“What exactly do you think needs to be addressed?” Severus inquired.

“You and Hermione are... together.”

“Obviously,” Severus said. Hermione was not subtle about their relationship around George.

George shook his head and ran his hand through his hair, as if regretting the conversation deeply.

“You seem to hate me more than you ever did before, so I assume she's told you that we... well, you know. We used to – ”

“I _know_ ,” Severus interrupted.

George nodded.

“Yes. Well, I just want you to know I'm going to propose to Angelina Johnson.”

Severus stared at him.

“Hermione and I were never... a serious thing. You know?” George said. “It was just sex.”

Severus continued to stare, wishing very deeply that George had not felt the need to have this conversation.

“So – ”

“Please. Stop talking,” Severus interrupted again.

“Right...” George muttered.

“I do not hate you,” Severus said, although he might if George ever felt the need to mention that he used to shag Hermione again.

“Don't give me a reason to.”

George nodded, and the silence between felt oppressive.

“I'm sorry about your ear,” said Severus after a while. “I meant to save your life, not maim you.”

“Oh... ah, I know,” George said. “I worked that out for myself a while back.”

He shrugged and said, “I'd rather be alive with one ear than dead with two.”

Hermione walked into the shop to find them standing in silence, George with his hands in his pockets.

“Severus! Hi,” she said, then handed George a book.

“I found it,” she said triumphantly.

“Thanks, Hermione,” George said, tucking the book under his arm. “You two have a nice lunch.”

“Ah, thanks...” Hermione said, giving George an odd look.

At lunch, she revealed that she had something for Severus as well – a ticket for an appointment with a permit-wizard from the Ministry.

“How did you manage to get this?” he asked, holding it up and inspecting it as if it might be fake. The date was in a few weeks.

“Well... I do know a few people at the Ministry,” she said.

He pocketed the slip of parchment and gave her a stern look.

“Potter?”

“You said I could tell Harry about us,” Hermione reminded him. “So I did, and I also asked him if it was possible that someone at the Ministry was purposefully holding up your permit application.”

Severus did not like where she was going with her story.

“So, Harry looked into it,” she said.

So he had Potter to thank for getting his shop open at last. When she came to Spinner's End that evening and they lay together lazily in his bed, Severus asked her if she was ready to go to Australia and find her parents.

“I don't know,” she said.

“I have two weeks until my appointment with the Ministry,” he said. “After which, it will be difficult to get away from the Apothecary.”

“Yes,” she said.

He waited.

“Yes, let's do it now,” said Hermione. “I – I'm ready. It's time.”


	30. Living

Only Remus and George knew that Hermione's 'holiday' in late summer was really a trip with Severus to find her parents.

“Wendell and Monica Wilkins” were not hard to find. They owned a practice called “Wilkins Family Dentists” and lived within walking distance of their workplace, near the beach.

Severus and Hermione spent a few days in a beach hotel, preparing for their encounter with her parents. They spent the evening before they planned to meet her parents on the beach. Severus didn't care for sand, but there was a pleasant salty breeze and a gorgeous sunset to distract him. They walked along the water for over an hour, mostly in silence. Her anxiety was palpable, even though she was suppressing her thoughts with Occlumency to manage it.

When they returned to the hotel room, Hermione passionately seduced him to bed. They stayed up into the wee hours of the morning. Severus did his best to distract her from her thoughts with his body, and in between the moments of pleasure he lay beside her, listening to her breathe, feeling the faint ripple of her agitated thoughts on the edges of his own mind.

Finally, sometime after three o'clock, she took a dose of Sleeping Draught. Severus lay awake for a while after she dozed off. He slept for a few hours and woke up when she got out of bed. The sun was just beginning to come up.

“Good morning,” she said softly, returning from the loo to lay down and look into his eyes.

He reached for her and she scooted closer until their bodies touched. Severus put his arm over her. She curled her body and tucked her head into his chest. Her hair tickled his neck and face, but he managed to drift back to sleep for a short while.

Since their plan was to go to her parents' home once they got off work for the day, there was no reason to be up early. Eventually they went out for a meal, the only one they would eat that day.

At five o'clock they stood together, Disillusioned, hiding behind some shrubbery near her parents' home in Australia. Severus put his hand on Hermione's back when a middle-aged couple approached the front door. Her parents went inside and Hermione moved, removing the charm over them.

She stared at Severus and then nodded.

“I'm ready,” she said.

They walked up to the door and rang the bell. Inside the house, a dog barked.

“They got a dog,” Hermione remarked.

A man with salt-and-pepper hair answered the door. He peered at them through his spectacles.

“Hello. How can I help you?” he asked.

Severus lifted his hand. Moments later, Mr. Granger nodded and led them into his living room.

“Wendell? Who was at the door? Oh!”

Mrs. Granger came into the room and took a step back in surprise. Moments later, she dropped, trance-like, onto the sofa next to her husband.

Hermione was already offering them cups of “tea”. They sat pleasantly sipping the mild sleeping potion as Severus prepared to enter their semi-conscious minds. He would have at most an hour to work before they'd require another dose.

He began with her father's mind, since he'd likely metabolize the potion faster. Hermione had given Severus her memory of the moment she convinced her parents they were Wendell and Monica Wilkins instead of John and Salima Granger. It took a while to locate the dead space in their memories, because years had passed since they were modified, forming new memories of a new life like layers of brick and mortar over the loss.

When he uncovered those old memories, they were not as he had hoped to find them – neatly boxed up and tucked behind the wall. No, Hermione had done a thorough job. She had made certain that if the Dark Lord ever got into their head he wouldn't guess what Hermione had done.

There were no threads tying their past memories to her face or her name. Instead of blocking the past out completely she had cut the image of herself out of it, like snipping a photograph in half. Her father had no idea he suffered from memory loss.

If she had done a worse job, if her image had remained somewhere in the clutter of their unconscious minds, he might have been able to paste her back in successfully. Instead, all he had were Hermione's own memories of growing up, which she'd shared in the hope of helping the process. It would not do to inject those into her parents' heads when there was nothing left with which to make a connection.

He could force them to remember her, in a way, but it would never be right. They would always feel like false memories. They might eventually be convinced to believe that Hermione was really their daughter, if they could be convinced to believe in magic, and if they would trust the witch and wizard who had just modified their minds... but they would never _feel_ like they were really her parents again.

Severus checked her mother's mind and found that Hermione's work had been just as effective there as well. Nothing was left of Hermione or the magical world. The only thing he could restore to her parents were their true identities, and the desire to return home to Britain. When he explained all of it to Hermione, she nodded once numbly.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

He watched her carefully as her eyes became distant and the color left her face.

“Nothing,” she finally said. “Just let them be Wendell and Monica. They're happy.”

Her face suddenly crumpled as she burst into tears, and she covered it with shaking hands as she cried, “I don't want to ruin their lives a-again.”

Severus wrapped his arms around her and she leaned heavily into his chest as she sobbed with her entire body. His own eyes began to water as he held her. Severus had never felt another person's anguish so acutely. They stood that way until she had exhausted her grief for the moment, and Severus worried her parents would soon wake from their potion-induced stupor.

He rubbed her back and said, “We should go.”

Hermione nodded into his shoulder. She turned away from him and looked at her parents, sagging against the back of the sofa with closed eyes. Severus watched anxiously as she kissed their foreheads goodbye, but neither stirred.

Once they were out of the house, he stuck his wand through the window and revived them. Hermione did not look back. She was already across the street, hugging herself as she walked. They returned to London, and Severus stayed at Grimmauld Place with her for a few days. It took until the end of the week for her to speak about her parents again.

They were sitting in the little hidden courtyard that Hermione used as a reading spot when the weather was nice. Crookshanks had followed them out there and was exploring the nooks and crannies, disappearing under bushes only to come shooting out to pounce on thin air. Hermione ignored the open book in her hand in favor of watching the Kneazle's antics.

“I wish I could go back and tell myself not to do it,” she said suddenly.

Severus looked up from his own book and waited.

“I know it's stupid to sit here and wish to change the past,” she continued. “I have to move on.”

She looked down at her hands, and smoothed her fingertips over the page of her book, petting it as if for comfort. Severus closed his own book and walked over to sit down beside her.

“Regret doesn't work that way,” he said.

“How does it work, then?” she asked.

He placed his hand over her restless fingers.

“You... just learn to live with it,” he said.

A tear slid down her cheek. She suddenly turned, took his face in her hands, and kissed him as more tears fell. They wet his fingers when he touched her neck.

“I don't know if I can,” she said.

He looked into her red-rimmed eyes.

“You can,” he assured her.

She shook her head slightly and looked away. Another tear raced down her face, past the crease of her nose, and into her mouth. She pressed her lips together.

“I'm so... ashamed. I thought I knew everything. I should have asked someone for help...”

She sniffed and wiped her face.

“I erased my family, Severus. I just... got rid of them. How could I do that?”

“You did what you believed must be done,” he said simply.

She shook her head again and said with a sigh, “Because of me, the people who love me no longer exist. What's left isn't them. I _knew_ , Severus. Deep down I knew it couldn't be undone and I did it anyway. My parents are... are dead.”

Hermione looked down at her book, which now had a round wet spots of tears dotting the open page, making it begin to crinkle.

Severus moved in at Grimmauld Place a few weeks later, and sold the house on Spinner's End. The Apothecary was open by the end of August, just in time for the crowds of students shopping for the beginning of term at Hogwarts.

When George learned the outcome of Hermione's trip to Australia, he insisted she take an extended absence from the shop. She mourned the loss of her parents as both Severus and Remus kept the house and devised excuses to keep her friends away. As far as they knew, she was on a holiday with a Muggle cousin.

There was no cousin. Hermione's only distant relatives resided in Canada, and she had never met them. Both parents were only children. They'd had Hermione as an older couple, and only one grandmother had lived long enough to see her birth. She died when Hermione was seven years old.

It was during this period of time that Harry realized there must be something more going on between Hermione and Severus than lessons. Perhaps Remus or George said something to him. In any case, Harry showed up at the Apothecary just before close under the pretense of shopping.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter,” Severus said.

“Call me Harry,” he said.

Severus stared at him.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Ah, do you have any... Cough Elixir?” Harry asked.

Severus picked up a bottle from a shelf near the register and set it on the counter.

“Anything else?”

“Ah, no...” Harry wandered up to the register and dug in his robe pocket for coins. “Actually, yes. I heard you've moved into Grimmauld Place.”

Severus stared, his hand hovering over the keys of the register.

“Are you...” Harry paused. “Well, it seems like you and Hermione have become... close.”

“ _Indeed_ ,” Severus said.

This seemed to give Harry an image he didn't appreciate having in his mind, and he hesitated again.

“So... so I'd like to get to know you. Perhaps we could grab a drink after work sometime?”

Severus gave it a moment of silent consideration, during which Harry cleared his throat.

“Perhaps,” Severus said. “Once Hermione returns?”

“Oh, ah... yes. When Hermione's back,” Harry said, looking relieved.

Severus nodded and opened his cash drawer. Harry handed him the coins he'd been holding, which were now warm.

“It'll be great to see Hermione again. Ginny can come, too,” he rambled. “It would be like...”

He stopped, presumably because he had accidentally just proposed a couples date for them.

“Tell Hermione to owl me when she's home,” he said.

Severus nodded again and pushed the Cough Elixir across the counter to Harry.

“I shall,” he said.

“Thanks. Erm... have a good evening, Severus.”

A few nights later, Hermione seemed to be in a lighter mood for the first time since the trip to Australia. She received an owl from Molly Weasley, announcing her youngest son's wedding.

“My god, they're going to be married before Harry and Ginny. I'm invited to bring a date,” she said, reading the invitation card included with the note.

She looked at Severus and laughed a little.

“It's too bad Harry already knows we're together. I'd like for you to show up to the wedding as a surprise guest.”

Severus would _not_ like that.

“When is the wedding?” he asked, already dreading the affair. There would be far too many nosy Weasleys in attendance, not to mention former colleagues and students.

“The twenty-third of December,” she said. “I suppose they'll already have the extended family around for the holidays.”

Hermione read the letter again and sighed.

“You know, when I heard that Ron wanted to propose to Romilda Vane after just a month of dating her, I thought he was crazy, but...”

She looked at Severus with a warmth in her eyes that made it difficult to breathe for a moment.

“I knew I loved you after just a few weeks,” she said. “Perhaps Romilda Vane is Ron's soulmate after all.”

Severus wasn't sure he believed in soulmates, but he figured that if such a thing existed that Hermione was his. She was precisely who and what he needed, not what he'd wanted. He'd wanted to live out his life alone and miserable, as he deserved. She had suddenly, recklessly, made him reconsider his penance of loneliness.

“Are you trying to tell me you wish to join your friends in matrimony before the year is done?” he asked teasingly.

Her eyes widened.

“No... not at all,” she said. “I'm not trying to, er, hint at anything.”

She gave him a curious look.

“I've never told you that Ron and I were sort of... a couple... ah, when we were younger. It didn't last long but his family thought we'd get married.”

Hermione sighed and said, “I don't know why they thought we'd stay together. Molly got so upset when I once mentioned that I don't want to have children.”

She looked at Severus as if waiting for a negative reaction – to which part of her confession he was not certain. He was surprised to hear that she'd been involved with not one but two Weasleys, but clearly she was over that phase of her life. It was unsurprising to hear that Molly Weasley was scandalized by a witch who did not want children.

“Why would you discuss such a thing with Molly Weasley?” he asked. “A woman who has more kids than sense?”

“Severus!” Hermione said, but she laughed. “She told me I'd be a good mum, and I disagreed.”

Severus smiled in amusement.

“What do you think?” Hermione asked.

“About what?”

“About me not wanting kids,” she said.

He blinked at her and said, “It does not come as a surprise to me.”

That was the moment that Severus knew he would marry her one day. Until then, he'd thought that his relationship with Hermione would last however long it lasted without a silly ceremony to prove it was real.

It wouldn't be proof of anything, but it would be the first magical vow he made out of love – not for self-preservation, or out of guilt, or a sense of duty. It would be a promise to Hermione and to himself to live the rest of his life a better, happier man than he'd ever imagined he could be.


End file.
